Golden Leaves
by HeiszKetchup
Summary: A story not about the people who have passed on, but rather about those who are left behind. About a woman who once shone like the sun, but now has nothing more than a spark. About Yang, who learns to let go of her past through a kid who reminds her that life moves on, even after those we love are gone.
1. Summer

_Today is Yang's birthday. She is five._ Like most five year olds, she still finds birthdays to be special, exciting days that are to be treasured. If anything, she finds this birthday to be even more so – at least, the fact that she can still celebrate it. After all, only a few months ago, she was in a situation where she wouldn't have had any more days to enjoy (much less birthdays). Now, she sits at home once more, with an entirely new appreciation for birthdays – which isn't necessarily something a five year old should have, but then again, Yang doesn't tend to stick to the norm.

That can be seen in her long, bright blonde hair, her lilac eyes, her unlocked semblance. Ruby never stops talking about the latter, and how much she herself wants to find her own power. Yang, however, is fully aware of what caused her to awaken what will one day be her famous flame (not that she knows that, yet), and can only hope that Ruby will find her own semblance in a much happier setting.

Yang shakes her head, trying to clear away the unhappy memories. She steals a glance at the very person who saved her and Ruby that day – her Uncle Qrow, who leans up against a nearby wall, eating a slice of birthday cake. Ruby, predictably, has already demolished her piece, and is trying to steal some of Yang's. The older girl relents and slides her slice over to the silver-eyed toddler, who squeals in delight and demolishes the cake with an enthusiasm usually reserved for cult leaders and mass murderers.

As Yang attempts to dodge the pieces of flying dessert (with varying success) she steals another glance at her uncle, who quirks a corner of his mouth in a rarely seen smile. He jerks his head to the right, and Yang's gaze slides in the direction until it falls on her father, who sits watching his daughters. It has been a long time since he has spent any more than an hour outside of his study at once, and Yang doesn't know when it will happen again, after today.

So, as Ruby looks up at her with a wide grin, mouth coated in the remnants of her cake, Yang grins back, with a smile to rival the sun. It seems to brighten the room for a moment, and is instantly contagious; Qrow and her father both smile at the sisters' interaction, and in that moment, everything could be considered all right again. But Yang knows that it won't be, not for a long time – and so she is determined to smile as much as she can, especially for today. As though with her own smiles, she could make up for the ones that are missing from the room – as if somehow, she could fill in for Summer Rose. And so Yang tries, laughing along with her uncle and father as Ruby tries to dive for another slice of cake, and lands face first in it.

Later that evening, Yang's father will give her a gift, wrapped in white paper and a golden bow. Ruby will have already fallen asleep, worn out by the day's excitement and copious amounts of sugar. Even though the box gives nothing away, Yang knows what the gift is before she even opens it – and as she does, she vows to look after her sister, the source of her smile, with everything she has.

* * *

><p>Lilac eyes opened to stare up at the familiar ceiling. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, Yang rolled over, trying to fall back into slumber. The sun streaming through the windows, combined with the annoying elderly habit of waking early, prevented her. Grumbling about the unfairness of the morning (it seemed some things never changed), Yang slowly sat up, yawning and stretching. Her joints cracked as she did, and she could practically feel her spine aligning. She stood slowly, trying to ease feeling back into her limbs – her muscles, no longer the strong ones from her youth, often got stiff in the mornings.<p>

She turned to face the mirror, blinking sleepily at her reflection. Lines etched her face – framing the corners of her mouth, crinkling around her eyes, encompassing her features. Her hands showed age as well, her veins and tendons showing strong through the skin. Spots speckled her knuckles and the back of her hands, as if trying to cover up the small scars from her brawler days. Her hair, once her most prized feature, still shone bright. But it too had aged, replacing the blonde strands with grey – first streaked, then full. All in all, Yang looked like what she was – an elderly woman, her age showing in more ways than one.

Yang tromped down the stairs, albeit much slower than she used to. She'd always prided herself on the fact that she'd never needed one of the stair helpers, even if the stairs were a pain in the ass. Ruby had pointed out that even if she had gotten one, she never would have used it anyways (Yang begrudgingly had admitted that she was probably right). Still, helper aside, Yang made her way down to the kitchen, where a coffee machine sat, waiting to help her start her day. She waited for the dark liquid to spill into her mug, watching the sun peek over the tops of the buildings.

Coffee in hand and mind slowly starting to awaken, Yang got ready to face the day. She dressed slowly – it seemed to her that everything she did these days was slow – pulling on simple, comfy clothing. Breakfast followed soon after – toast, because she didn't have much of an appetite in the mornings anymore – and then she was at the front door, lacing up her boots. Her teammates used to joke that one day, she'd have to trade in her laces for velcro straps. Whether it was because of her stubbornness or just the fact that no one made boots with velcro larger than children's sizes didn't matter – in any case, Yang still had laces.

Yang stood, ready to leave – but before she did, she glanced at the photo that sat on a shelf beside the door. Her team smiled back at her, their grins frozen in a worn photograph, faded with time. The woman had grown accustomed to saying goodbye to it – it was a comfort thing, a habit it that truly made her house feel like home.

She pulled on her old leather jacket as she went out the door. Over the years, many things had changed and much of her old attire had left her (she was still mourning the loss of her ass cape) but her leather duster had stayed, regardless of age. To Yang's delight and comfort, it still smelled faintly of gunpowder, from her days as a huntress.

Stepping out into the street, Yang observed her neighbourhood – it had changed a lot since she'd first moved in, but it still remained a predominantly Faunus community. That had been the main reason her teammates had moved there from the start – for Blake, and because it was quite a bit cheaper. But mostly for Blake. Now, young families populated the area, which contrasted Yang in her age. It still felt like home, though, so she couldn't complain.

Yang made her way down the street, heading out on a well known path to the nearby mechanic's garage. She'd been heading there for years – first as a worker, then eventually just as an advisor. These days, she mostly went in to pick fun at the young owner – the grandson of Hei Xiong (or Junior, as she had known him). The descendant of her longtime adversary/tentative friend ran a local shop, which specialized in vehicle and weapon machinery. It was an odd mix, but the man who ran it was nice, even if his grandfather was a criminal. Yang made a point of calling him Junior as well, despite his name having no connection with that of any of his relatives.

Yang had once called a lot of people by nicknames. But those nicknames had been buried along with those who carried them – just another piece of the past, another reminder for Yang of what her life had once been.

* * *

><p>Hours later, with the sun now finishing its arc across the sky, Yang made her way back home. She strolled along a side street, not really taking anything in, as it was the same it had been every other day. But, as she passed a small alleyway, something had changed – for the first time in Yang's memory, the alley was occupied.<p>

Several children stood at the end of it, three boys crowding around a much smaller girl. Yang paused, knowing what the sight was immediately. She'd seen her fair share of bullying over the years, even faced some of it herself, on her behalf and Ruby's. Jaune and Cardin came to mind momentarily, but she shook her head, trying not to fall down that rabbit hole. She glanced back to the kids, noticing that the girl was standing up to them, shouting their words back at them.

Yang stood, watching, not sure what to do. She knew that stepping in would only make matters worse in the long run – the bullies would return another day, and the last thing she wanted was for them to tease the girl about needing an old woman to stand up for her. Yet, Yang couldn't move away. Something about the girl's bravery and refusal to back down struck a chord deep inside, though she couldn't quite figure out why.

Yang continued to watch, before she realized how it probably looked to have an elderly woman watching a bunch of kids fighting in an alleyway. Shivering off the connotations, she turned to leave, trying to tune out the shouts that were growing steadily louder. It felt wrong to turn her back, but the girl wasn't backing down, and it gave Yang some small relief against the guilt.

Then, something changed. In the alleyway, with nothing but the setting sun and the summer weather to warm the air, Yang felt the presence of something she hadn't had in years. It was so familiar, yet so unexpected that it took Yang several seconds to realize exactly what it was. She whirled, turning back to the kids – and immediately found the source. The presence rose with the volume of the young girl's voice, becoming increasingly more noticeable.

Yang took a deep breath before she began to walk away from the alley as quickly as she could. Shaken, she looked at her hands, taking in the faint scars of burns and battles from over the years. She stopped walking, then dropped her hands and looked to the setting sun. It wasn't that the presence was shocking, it was just unexpected, like running into a friend you hadn't seen for many years. For Yang, it had been a long time since she'd known that familiar feeling: the warmth of a fire semblance.

* * *

><p><em>Today is Yang's birthday. She is seventeen.<em> While the clock has just passed midnight, Yang still lies awake, staring at the ceiling of her Beacon dormitory. All around her, she can hear the sounds of her teammates sleeping – the soft whistle from Ruby, the occasional grumble from Weiss, and the steady breathing of Blake. She knows she should be getting sleep – after all, they have a test tomorrow, and Weiss will skin her alive if she gets a bad mark and lowers the team's average – but Yang just can't sleep, kept up by thoughts about birthdays.

The childlike wonder of the days has long passed for Yang, but they still hold meaning in her life. To her, birthdays are a reminder of the promise she made to protect Ruby, a promise she still keeps, even to this day. It's that same promise that has made her realize how grateful she is to have Ruby on the same team as her - as much as she'd love for her sister to meet more people and spread her wings a little, she's also worried about not being able to protect her the same way.

Yang laughs at herself a bit for that – she's become more of a mother than she thought she would. It's both a happy and sobering thought, that she filled in her mother's shoes so well. But not fully. Yang knows that no matter how much she acts like a mother, she'll never be one – never be able to take Summer's place. Still, Yang knows that she's the older sister and, mother or not, it's her job to look after Ruby.

_Well_, muses Yang, sitting up and leaning over the edge of her bed, _I guess not just Ruby any more_. Try as she might to deny it, Yang knows that over the past couple of months, Weiss and Blake have also become part of the family she's determined to protect. They've become sisters, in their own ways, and Yang knows that she'll do anything to look after them, as well.

It's safe to say that other people at Beacon have wormed their way into her family as well – perhaps not as close as Blake or Weiss, but still close, like cousins you see at every family dinner, or something. All of team JNPR, Velvet, and even Sun and Neptune – they've all become part of Yang's family. The more she thinks about it, the more she realizes that 'cousin' is the perfect title for them. That especially holds true for Sun and Neptune, who have somehow managed to become wrapped up in all their schemes, yet still belong to a team of their own.

Yang laughs softly, then falls back onto her pillow, golden hair spilling out behind her. Yang knows as well as all of them, if not better, that being a hunter or huntress can end terribly. It wouldn't be right to say she isn't scared – truthfully, Yang's afraid of a lot of things: Grimm, bad hair days, losing those she loves – but she also knows that the fear of losing her friends pales in comparison to her love for them. It's an odd, twisted sort of family she has now, but despite the fact that she'd worry less if she didn't know them as well; she knows it's not a family she'll ever be able to give up. And it's then, under the light from the shattered moon, surrounded by the peaceful sounds of her teammates' slumber (minus Ruby's occasional snore), that Yang knows that she now has far more to protect than just her sister.

* * *

><p>Yang had never really been the type to believe in fate. She'd always kind of accept things as they were, not necessarily believing that things were 'destined,' but rather that they just happened. That being said, she wasn't a huge believer in coincidence, either. At least, not when things seemed far too preplanned. Still, Yang didn't really want to accept that the fact she kept seeing the girl around meant anything of importance. She resigned herself to believing that it really was a fluke, and because now that she'd seen the girl once already, she noticed her more.<p>

The second time she'd seen the young girl had been in a neighbourhood nearby her own, a block or two away. Yang knew the neighbourhood well – it was also well known for being a Faunus area, and in it was Ren and Nora's tree (the hammer warrior had planted it after their first successful mission). The girl had been facing off against two other girls, both of whom looked to be several years older.

The third time Yang had seen the girl was in a parking lot down by the docks, which wasn't too surprising, as Yang's neighbourhood wasn't very far from central Vale. She didn't know who the girl was speaking to, as they were hidden from Yang's view, but it appeared to be yet another heated argument.

Every time Yang had passed by the girl, she'd lingered, trying not to intervene. It had been increasingly difficult, especially whenever she felt the warmth of the girl's semblance. While it had assuaged any doubts Yang had had over whether or not she had pegged the user correctly, it also brought on a worry over the use of it. Yang knew that semblances didn't awaken early very often – her case had been a rarity, brought on by an experience that had left her shaken for weeks. The fact that the girl had a semblance at such a young age, and a fire semblance to boot, caused Yang to believe less and less in their encounters being coincidences.

Still, despite never having talked to her, Yang had picked up on the fact that she was the abrasive type – the fact she was in a fight every time she saw her kind of gave that away. They were always against kids older and stronger than her, as well. Regardless, the girl had stood up to them each and every time, never giving in. To Yang, this was both stupid and brave – and remarkably familiar.

* * *

><p>Yang's excuse of coincidence was destroyed the fourth time she met the girl. They crossed paths late one evening, when the streetlights had come on and the sun had almost completely set. The girl sat in a playground nearby the neighbourhood Yang had seen her at before, resting on a swing, her feet pushing herself back and forth slowly. Unlike the other three encounters, the girl was alone. She still showed signs of being in a fight, however – small scrapes and bruises, the start of a black eye, and scratches on knuckles that clenched the swing chains tight.<p>

As Yang passed by, she realized the girl was muttering something – listening closely, she realized exactly what it was.

"Calm down, cool down, calm down, cool down…"

The familiarity of the situation hit Yang like a bucket of ice water – a young kid, trying to keep control of their semblance, still far too young to properly have a handle on it. It brought Yang back to her own childhood, and she could almost feel the chains in her own hands, knowing exactly what the girl was going through. Then, before she knew what she was doing, Yang was moving.

"Breathe."

The girl's head snapped up, not having noticed Yang come closer. Her brow furrowed, eyes focusing on the woman in front of her.

"W-what?" she responded, both wary and confused.

Yang grimaced, cursing herself in her head. She was aware of how this must have looked to the kid – an elderly woman she didn't know, coming up and telling her to breathe.

"You have to breathe steadily," she clarified, "or else your semblance isn't going to cool down."

The girl's face cleared, expression of confusing replaced by one of understanding. She followed Yang's advice, breathing at a steady pace. Almost instantly, the warmth in the air dropped by several degrees.

"Good. Keep doing that."

After a minute or two of silence, Yang held up her hands in front of the girl, palms facing upwards.

"Focus on my hands," she said softly, "Try counting the lines in them."

The girl's eyes narrowed as she followed Yang's instruction, her mouth silently forming numbers as she counted in her head. As an afterthought, Yang realized she had no idea if the girl could count any higher than ten. _Whoops._

Still, her advice was working – distracted by Yang's very wrinkly hands, the girl's semblance had dropped, the air temperature around them turning back to normal. Yang smiled slightly, dropping her hands and straightening up, joints protesting with cracks. She winced, then smiled back at the girl.

"See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

The girl paused, as if only realizing that her semblance had faded. She frowned, then looked up at Yang and grinned widely.

"Thanks, Granny!"

Had Yang's semblance still been fully active, that would have been the sort of comment to send her hair into flames. As it was, any sign of a smile was wiped from her face.

"What?!" Yang cried indignantly, as if the statement was in no way true, "Listen here, you little–"

"Whoa!"

The girl interrupted her beginning tirade, staring at a cartoon watch on her wrist, as if just taking in the time of evening, despite the colour of the sky.

"Sorry, Granny!" she continued, rubbing salt in the wound, "I gotta go!"

The girl raced off, leaving Yang to swallow her irritation and turn to yell back at her.

"Wait!" she started, stopping the girl in her tracks.

She turned and looked at Yang, in slight confusion. Yang took a moment to find the words she wanted to say.

"Why are you always fighting?" she settled on, not sure how else to put it.

The girl's expression deepened in confusion, and Yang scrambled to clarify.

"Your semblance, I mean. It's triggered easiest by fighting, and you always seem to have activated it, so…"

The girl peered at Yang, confusion replaced by suspicion.

"Have you been… watching me?" she asked.

Before Yang could try and defend her honour against the accusation, the girl laughed and answered Yang's question.

"I fight so the bullies don't bother us, silly!"

With that, she turned to run off once more – but Yang called after her to stop again. The girl stopped, turned, and raised an eyebrow in expectation, waiting for Yang to speak.

"Yang," she said simply, giving her name.

The girl's face returned to bewilderment, clearly having no idea what that meant.

"My name," Yang clarified, exasperatedly, "What's yours?"

The girl replied, then sprinted off, not giving Yang a chance to call her back again. Not that the woman would have, though – the girl's reply left her feeling like the ground had disappeared from beneath her feet. She almost felt like falling back into one of the swings, and sitting like the girl had. It had only been a name, but it was one Yang had known all too well.

"Summer."

* * *

><p><em>Today is Yang's birthday. She is ninety-three.<em> There is no longer anyone left to celebrate the day with – not that she would have, because for Yang, birthdays have long since lost their meaning. Her friends, her mentors, and her peers have all passed on before her, leaving her promises fulfilled, with no one left to protect but herself. Now, birthdays no longer serve as reminders of those she looks after, but rather as a reminder of how much time has passed since she has gone without them in her life.

While there are no longer any cake or presents, Yang does take a moment to light herself a candle. She summons up a flame – which is about all her semblance can do anymore, the power fading with age. Candle lit, Yang withdraws three cards from the back of a drawer, where they stay hidden for every day but one, each year.

Each card is from a different birthday, from different people. The first is from Beacon, a recording of her friends singing a horrible, off-key, disorganized version of Happy Birthday. It sounds like a trainwreck, but Yang can hear each of her friends in their youth, laughing and attempting to sing. As it turns out, not even Weiss can sing the song perfectly in the company of their friends. The second card is similar, another recording – this one from Ruby, Qrow, and her father. Ruby's drawings from when she was seven cover the card, making Yang smile, even at this age.

The last card, while not a recording, means just as much as the other two. It is the card that came with Yang's gift on her fifth birthday, written on only by Summer. The last message Yang ever received from her mother.

And it is in this way, in the dark of the evening, with only the light from a small candle and the songs of people who have long left her behind, that Yang celebrates her birthday.


	2. Autumn

_Today is Blake's birthday. She is sixty-nine._ Her house is full of friends, still loud and boisterous despite their ages. They've all crowded into the kitchen, trying to avoid shoving limbs into each other or the counter top. Despite all of them having retired from hunting careers, they still carry weapons out of habit – and Blake knows from experience that tight quarters and sharp elbows do not make good combinations. Before anyone can destroy Blake's kitchen, however, they find a way to make it fit.

Someone (Ruby) pulls a chair up to the table in the center of the room, and prods Blake until she takes a seat. There is a clamoring, whispers to turn off the light, and then the room is dimmed significantly. Neptune nearly collapses over Sun in his efforts to draw the curtains in front of the window, and the room falls into near darkness. Blake blinks, her eyes adjusting to the light quickly, as her Faunus senses haven't diminished by much over time. She sees Yang and Weiss hunched over the countertop, Ruby flitting around them, trying to peer over their shoulders. For all of their age, not one of them has changed very much.

There is a sudden glow and familiar warmth fills the room as Yang's semblance kicks in. While weaker than it had once been, the brawler can still produce flame – and Blake realizes exactly what's coming next. As if reading her thoughts, Weiss turns and marches towards the table, holding onto a platter that contains some kind of disastrous combination of candles and cake.

As Weiss drops it in front of her, Blake realizes that there are probably exactly sixty-nine candles perched into the baked good – there isn't an inch of the cake that remains not punctured by striped wax. Pyrrha winces at the sight of it, understandably. Weiss beckons to Yang, who steps forwards with a grin splitting her face and her eyes alight and reddened. She takes a deep breath and (Blake leaning back instinctively) spits a burst of flame, which shoots across the table and hovers just above the cake. A moment later, it goes out – and every candle has successfully been lit, albeit a little bit melted.

The brawler's smile grows even larger as the red fades from her pupils, and the guests hovering around the table ooh appreciatively and clap over the performance.

"Well, Blake," crows Ruby, "make a wish!"

"I'd make it fast, though," Yang states quietly, pointing to the rapidly melting candles.

Blake rolls her eyes, then closes them to make her wish. A moment later, she opens them and begins to blow out the candles. It takes more than a couple of breaths, and plenty of smoke lingers in the air when she is finished.

"Well done," shouts Sun, clapping her on the back (which does nothing to help her wheezing), "I didn't think you'd get through them all!"

"Who's idea was it to put that many candles on, anyways?" asks Velvet, always the voice of reason.

"Mine!" cries Ruby, at the same time Weiss rolls her eyes and points at her partner.

"What'd you wish for, Blake?" asks Yang, curiosity radiating out of her voice like stink off a skunk.

"I think that kind of nullifies the wish," answers Blake, staring flatly at the brawler.

"In any case," Pyrrha interjects, before Yang can predictably launch into a counter argument, "happy birthday, Blake."

The Faunus turns to look at the woman, who stands besides Ren, smiling warmly. Over the years Pyrrha's smile has remained true, despite the lines that have slowly begun to deepen around it. Ren, on his part, gives a small smile and nods to Blake, who does the same in return. She knows as well of the rest of them that meeting everyone like this doesn't have the same sense of happiness for Pyrrha and Ren – it reminds them of the times when both still had their partners. There is a definite absence in the room – Nora's exuberant laugh no longer ringing in their ears, Jaune no longer knocking things off the countertop – but no one addresses it.

"Yes," says Velvet, interrupting Blake's silent reverie, "happy sixty-ninth birthday!"

"Don't even think about it," she warns, shooting a look at Sun and Yang, before either of them can speak a word.

The blondes respond predictably: Sun's grin grows wider; Yang pouts emphatically. As if consoling her sister over her spoiled joke, Ruby leans over Yang, plucks candles from the cake, and tries poking them into her mouth. That act of generosity – or so Ruby calls it as she tries to free herself from her sister's headlock – deteriorates quickly, and within moments, candles are everywhere.

Blake watches the chaos silently from her perch at the end of the table, amusement clear on her face. Ruby and Yang, trying to shove candles into each others' mouths while fending off their own; Weiss, attempting to intervene to save the already destroyed cake; Pyrrha and Ren, smiling and laughing at the display; Velvet, rolling her eyes; and Neptune, trying to keep Sun from diving across the table to join in. As cake splatters from candles, friends shouting and laughing the whole time, Blake takes a moment to think about her wish.

It has been a long time since Blake felt lost – once she had left the White Fang and gone to Beacon, she'd slowly begun to feel at home in the world. With her team and friends, it had become even more so. Now, watching the people who lit up her world, Blake knows exactly what she wishes for – that all of them will keep laughing for as long as life will permit. She knows as well as anyone, if not better, that life doesn't last forever, and all things come to an end. But, as she watches her friends who have grown up only in age, she also knows it's best to enjoy things while they're still around.

* * *

><p>It wasn't hard for Yang to find out where Summer lived. The description 'little brawler girl' was enough to set off vague directions, and 'fire semblance' had people immediately giving the address. One couple had even slammed their door in Yang's face after she asked about the young girl, which prompted the elderly woman to wonder just how infamous Summer had become around her neighbourhood. In fact, Yang found herself slightly in awe with the reactions that simply her name could invoke.<p>

Terrorized neighbours aside, Yang now found herself standing in front of the home that presumably belonged to Summer. It was simple, as many young family homes are – red brick, white window shutters, front porch. Yang tromped up the latter slowly, her joints creaking in time with the old wooden steps. She took a moment to gather herself, and then knocked twice on the heavy wooden door.

Yang could hear movement inside – a faint 'coming!' resounded from within – and for a moment, she doubted whether this was a good idea. But before she had the chance to flee – not that she would be able to with her speed – the sound of opened locks came from the other side of the door before it swung open. Any doubts Yang had had over whether or not it was Summer's home flew away in the moment she saw the woman standing in the doorway.

She looked a great deal like Summer – the same eyes, pointed chin, spattering of freckles across her cheekbones. Even the way in which she held herself reminded Yang a great deal of the younger girl: her shoulders rounded but head held high, both defiant and passive at the same time. But there were differences between Summer and the woman as well, in their noses and ears and the ways they looked at Yang. Summer had stared at her with curiosity; the woman at the door looked at her with apprehension.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked, raising an eyebrow to the elderly woman.

Yang shook herself from her reverie, but before she could answer, another voice echoed from inside the house.

"Hun? Who's at the door?"

The other half of Summer (as Yang would describe him) appeared in the hallway inside, coming up to stand beside the woman in the doorway. He too looked a great deal like the troublesome kid, and Yang saw in him the features Summer hadn't shared with the woman: the same rounded nose, ears that slightly stuck out, and eyes filled with curiosity.

Realizing that both were staring at her, waiting for an answer, Yang cleared her throat and began to speak.

"My name is Yang Xiao Long," she said, still thinking of the words to say even as they came out of her mouth, "and I'm looking for a girl named Summer. The neighbours all pointed to this house–"

"We'll pay for it, whatever it is," the woman interrupted. Yang paused, taken aback by the unexpected comment.

"Oh – no!" she said, chuckling in realization, "She didn't break anything of mine. I'm actually here for different reasons. You see, I am an ex-huntress–"

She was interrupted again, but this time in an entirely different manner. The apologetic looks had disappeared, replaced by ones of worry – and in the woman's case, one of anger.

"What do you want with our daughter?" the woman asked angrily, all traces of passiveness gone, "Don't you dare think you can just come here and talk to our daughter about joining your – your suicide parade!"

Yang, who had been reeling from the complete personality reversal, was hit by the last phrase as if it were a train. All at once, she realized where the woman's anger was coming from, why their expressions had changed the moment she had said 'huntress.'

"You might think of yourselves as heroes," the woman continued, not having noticed Yang's own change in demeanor, "but that's no reason to be trying to convince _children_ to become people like yourselves–"

"_No_."

Yang's words cut off the woman's tirade instantly, her voice cold and sharp.

"That would never be my intention," she continued, before the couple could begin commenting again. "I didn't come here to tell Summer about being a huntress, or to ask her to join my… suicide parade."

The woman winced, as though suddenly realizing the harshness of her own words.

"I've never thought of myself as a hero," Yang continued, "and I don't know anyone else who lived through the career and didn't do the same. The only heroes are those who didn't make it to the ends of their careers, who lost their lives fighting for the same people who called them foolish and death-seeking."

Yang's tone had changed, seeming to both lack emotion, and yet also contain so much at once it could barely hold it all in.

"I've seen many friends fall in the line of duty, and seen the way that their deaths affect those around them. I know what this line of work is, what it leaves you with – and what it leaves you _without_."

There was a pause, and for a moment, all she could remember were the faces, the voices of those who were gone, those who were left behind.

"I know what being a huntress does to you. I would never try and convince anyone to become one, much less try and ask your daughter to do so."

She looked up at the couple, the lines in their faces deepened by sadness, not anger. There was silence for a moment, Yang's words having struck a chord within both of them, the elderly woman herself trying to shake the memories of the past.

"… I'm sorry," the woman murmured after a moment, turning away.

"It's alright," replied Yang, surprised that she actually meant it, "I shouldn't have started off with saying what I used to be."

"Then what… did you come here for?" the man said, speaking for the first time since his wife's tirade. At this, Yang smiled, happy to move past the previous tension.

"I noticed the other day that your daughter has a fire semblance," she said, noting the way both of them looked up at this, "and I think I would be able to help with that."

Yang held out her palm, and closed her eyes, willing the spark inside her to grow. After a moment, a small flame flickered in her hand, and then went out. The brief display had been enough – the man and woman were staring at her, hope and confusion in their eyes.

"You want to teach our daughter?" the woman asked. Yang smiled warmly, a glimpse of her previous self showing through.

"I had a hard time growing up with a fire semblance, too," she clarified, "I unlocked my powers around the same age as Summer is now. I know how hard it can be to grow up trying to learn to control that power – and how hard it is for the parents, too."

She reached into the pocket of her jacket, and dug around in it for a moment before withdrawing a slip of paper. She handed it to the couple, who turned it over to reveal a faded photograph – Yang as a child, summoning flames to show Ruby, who sat beside her in the photo.

Yang smiled at the memory – Ruby had been cold, and begged her sister to make fire for them to warm up. Their laughter echoed in Yang's head for a moment.

"If you'd like, I can teach Summer how to control her semblance," she said, causing the couple to look up once more. "I haven't had strong powers for many years now, but I can still summon up flames, and learning to control them is not something you can forget easily. I'd be honoured to teach your daughter, if you'd like."

Yang bowed slightly at the end, a shadow of her former teachings showing through. The couple glanced at each other for a moment, then spoke together at once:

"Yes!"

"Absolutely!"

Taken aback by their sudden agreement, Yang looked back and forth between the two of them.

"I don't want to say it's been a hassle, but…. It's been a _huge_ hassle," clarified the man, rubbing the back of his head.

"She unlocked her semblance a month ago," explained the woman, "and since then, we haven't found a way for her to keep it under control. We try and be as supportive as we can, but we're starting to reach the end of our rope."

She looked at Yang, her eyes pleading for help.

"We would be the ones honoured to have you teach our daughter," she said, "We'll even pay you, if you–"

"No," Yang interrupted, shaking her head, "I'm not doing this for any gain. It's just… I remember how hard that was for me, not having a proper teacher for a long time. If I'm able to keep someone else from going through the same thing, then I'll happily do it for free."

"Thank you," the woman replied, honesty pouring from her words. She paused, looked away awkwardly, and then down.

"I'm very sorry about what I said before," she said, "I shouldn't have reacted in that way."

"Really, it's alright," Yang replied, "believe it or not, that's not actually the worst reaction I've ever gotten to my title before."

"Seriously?"

"Yup! One time the owner of a nightclub tried to throw me out the window of his three story club when he found out about it."

She grinned mischievously, her younger self returning in her smile.

"Didn't end very well for him!"

The man laughed and the woman smiled at her story, before the latter held out her hand.

"Scarla," she said. Yang took her hand and shook it, before turning to do the same to the man.

"Rowan," he supplied.

"Yang," she repeated, "So, when would you like to start training?"

"Whenever works best for you," Scarla said, her husband nodding.

"Tomorrow, then?"

"Sure."

Rowan turned, and called out into the house.

"Summer, come here! There's someone we want you to meet!"

A small 'okay!' came from within the home, and Yang could hear the girl stumbling down steps to meet her. Summer came into view, and stopped dead in the hallway once she realized who she was supposed to meet. She raised a finger, pointed straight to Yang, and cried out.

"Granny!"

Yang ground her teeth, the girl's laughter not helping matters any.

"Summer, that's rude!" Scarla chastised, lightly tapping her daughter on the head as the girl came up to the doorway.

"No, it's alright," Yang said, "I'm sure _kiddo_ here will have a great time with me during training."

Summer frowned at the name, a comeback already in mind, when the rest of Yang's words sunk in.

"Wait a minute – training?" she asked, irritation replaced by confusion.

"Yup!" Yang said, laughing loudly, "I'm going to be training you how to use your semblance correctly."

Summer's mouth dropped slightly, and for a moment, Yang felt a surge of pride over the girl's apparent awe. Which, of course, turned out to be for the completely wrong reason.

"You mean… you can actually do something other than break your hip?"

Yang glared at the kid as her parents both yelped her name.

"You bet I can, kiddo. I used to be pretty darn powerful, you know?"

Summer eyed her, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"Show me," she said, true to a five-year-old's personality.

And, true to her five-year-old mentality, Yang couldn't back down from the request.

Yang rolled her eyes, knelt to the young girl's level, summoned up the warmth again – and snapped her fingers in front of Summer's face, sparks jumping through the air. The young girl jumped back in surprise, before her expression turned to anger and her eyes began to grow red. Her parents immediately reacted, hands reaching out to calm the girl. Yang, however, did the opposite.

She reached out her hand again and flicked Summer's nose lightly, causing the girl to blink and back away again.

"Whoa, squirt," Yang said, "Those sparks didn't hurt you at all, so calm down."

Summer, whose previously clenched fists were now holding her nose, glared at Yang with eyes that had faded back to their original colour.

Yang smiled at the sight, Scarla and Rowan both blinking at her in awe. Yang stood up slowly, grimacing at the cracks in her back. Yang shot a glance at Summer before she could make an age related comment – and judging by the wicked grin on the girl's face, she already had several in mind.

"Well, I'll be back tomorrow afternoon," said Yang, ready to take her leave, "be ready to make some sparks, kiddo!"

She nodded to Scarla and Rowan, before she turned, placed her hands in her pockets, and made her way down the steps back to the sidewalk. She paused at her name being called, and turned back to the house. Scarla stood in the doorway still, Rowan and Summer already having retreated into the house.

"Thank you," she said earnestly, a small smile on her face.

Yang smiled back, and withdrew a hand to wave in acknowledgement. Then she turned away once more, and began to make her way back home.

* * *

><p>Summer's training began on a warm afternoon, in the same playground where they had spoken for the first time. Summer was clearly elated to begin, as kids often are when they start out on something new; she was rocking back and forth on her heels, practically quivering with contained excitement. Yang was almost a complete counterpart, quiet and lost in thought, trying to figure out where to begin.<p>

However, it soon became very clear to the both of them that there was, in fact, only one place to start – the very beginning. While Summer had figured out the very basis of her semblance (energy became fire, emotions became heat), it was obvious to Yang that she hadn't the slightest clue as to how to control it.

It was a familiar situation for the former brawler, like a window looking straight into her past. Summer's semblance was the same as hers, activated by emotion and triggered far too easily as a result. It had taken Yang years as a kid to stop igniting her semblance over the little things, and even longer to be able to keep from losing control in stressful situations. Her team had helped with the last bit – Ruby knew her well enough to tell when she was reaching a snapping point, Weiss would pick up on the rising heat and tell her (bluntly) to calm down, and Blake learned from her actions when the pressure was gaining, able to read her partner like a book from the very start. Summer, on the other hand, had no team to help her – just a very elderly woman who could hardly use her semblance anymore.

Yang quickly realized that Summer's problem wasn't in the fact she simply could trigger her semblance, but that she could engage it over anything. Some emotions caused the control to break more easily – anger, worry, fear, and even happiness were often the worst of them. But in Summer's case, triggering emotions expanded far beyond the usual – envy, annoyance, nervousness, and a whole slew of other feelings gave way to temperature changes akin to the rises and falls of a roller coaster. It also didn't help matters any that being a small child with a Weiss-rivaling temper, Summer changed between moods faster than a teenager at the height of puberty.

But even though Yang had found the source of the problem, that didn't mean she could solve it. It had been a very, very long time since Yang had lost control easily – childhood was practically a lifetime away, and her quick reactions had faded with age, her temper mellowing out as she grew older. There was also the fact that despite having been very powerful in her youth, Yang's power had faded from an inferno to a simple spark – and with it, her memories of controlling her semblance. Back in her huntress days, her power had been a force to be reckoned with, and with that power had come a need for great control – but both had faded, leaving Yang with only memories of outbursts, with no way to connect to Summer's current ones.

And so, weeks passed. Summer slowly faded into Autumn, leaves changing colour and lighting the world around them on fire as well. The heat of the days fell, but for Yang and Summer, the heat of training stayed the same. There had been some progression – small emotions no longer brought on the same reactions, usually just quick pulses and flares of heat – but for the most part, the triggers were still as sensitive as before. And with the lack of improvement came an entirely different issue – frustration.

Both of them had it – for Yang, it stemmed from her inability to help her student, unable to find a bridge to connect over; for Summer, it came from the fact that no matter what she did, she just couldn't keep control. Their frustrations hindered both of them, slowly losing patience with themselves and each other. Tempers rose as the temperature fell around them, fallen leaves colouring the days and their frustration. And, on a warm Autumn afternoon, the pressure finally became too much.

"Alright," said Yang, shifting in her spot on the park bench, "let's try happiness this time."

Summer nodded from her position nearby the swings, slightly away from where the brawler sat. The young girl closed her eyes, letting the images run through her head. It was a simple exercise – think of memories, of possibilities that brought on different reactions, and try to control the emotions that came about. Once in a while, Yang would toss pieces of bark at the girl, catching her off guard and giving her an extra challenge in trying to keep down her temper.

The wind rustled through the trees, filling the silence that grew as Summer concentrated. After a moment, Yang felt the all-too-familiar presence of heat slowly increasing. She waited until the heat became almost stifling, then addressed the girl, who still had her eyes clenched shut.

"Summer–"

She didn't get a chance to finish her sentence.

"I know."

Summer didn't open her eyes, but her brow furrowed with her answer, her hands slowly forming into fists. Yang paused, unaccustomed to the younger girl interrupting her.

She waited, giving the girl a bit more time to try and control the heat. It still rose, now even faster than before. It was a common occurrence – frustration would kick in, which would make controlling the heat even harder, and in turn would only bring on more frustration. It was a vicious cycle, and one that neither Summer nor Yang knew how to break.

When a bead of sweat rolled down Yang's brow, she knew it was time to step in.

"Summer," she started again, only to be cut off once more by the girl, who had clearly been expecting the reprimand.

"I know!," Summer cried, her voice catching on the last word, frustration and anger coloring her tone, "I'm trying, okay?"

At her last words, the girl's temper flared in a pulse of heat – Yang felt the edge of it from her position on the park bench, as if she were sitting too close to a fireplace. The leaves around Summer's feet felt it much more, as they shriveled up from the sudden leap in temperature. Yang didn't draw away from the heat, by now used to the outbursts. She instead stared at Summer, who was clenching and unclenching her hands, trying to pull back her control.

"Breathe," Yang said, keeping eye contact with the girl.

Summer obeyed the command, a regular reprimand by this point. Eventually, the heat dissipated, the air around them turning back to the warm autumn air. The silence returned between them, faint sounds of the rustling leaves giving them time to sort their thoughts. After a moment, Yang sighed, shaking her head. She looked up at Summer, giving a soft smile to the girl.

"Why don't we stop training here for the day," she said, chuckling at the look of happiness on Summer's face, "I don't think we're going to get much farther than this."

Yang glanced at the sky, where grey clouds were slowly starting to creep over the edges of the town.

"Besides," she continued, "I think it's going to rain soon."

"Can you feel that in your bones?" Summer answered, "you know, your elderly bones–"

"Very funny," interrupted Yang, cutting off yet another one of the girl's age related jokes, "no, you comedian, I looked at the clouds."

She pointed above them, punctuating her point. Summer laughed, returning to her usual carefree state.

"Alright, Grandma," Summer said, still laughing over her own joke, "I'll see you tomorrow, then. Your house, right?"

Yang nodded in reply; on the days that her parents had work, Summer would be dropped off at Yang's house before the training began, as opposed to the days they met at the playground.

"See you then, Yang. Don't break your hip!"

Summer left at that, the comment her usual way of saying goodbye. Yang shook her head, well used to the comment, before she leaned back against the park bench, passing a hand over her eyes.

"Stupid kid," she muttered, though her words held no bite.

Yang watched the sky, clouds passing slowly, not weighed down by any concepts of time. Lost in thought, the woman hardly noticed the specks of rain slowly starting to fall, instead thinking about the training with Summer. The truth was, the young girl wasn't nearly as worried as Yang was. Summer got frustrated easily in the moment, but lost it quickly, ready to move on and try again. Yang, on the other hand, had frustration building up slowly – not a worry that Summer would never gain control (she knew that wasn't true), but rather a worry that she wouldn't be able to connect with the girl, and wouldn't be able to help. A worry that their training would be over before it even really began.

Taking note of the light raindrops, Yang stretched and slowly got off the bench, grimacing at the small pops from her joints. It was probably a good thing Summer wasn't there, she mused, as the girl wouldn't have missed the opportunity for a joke even if her life depended on it. Her smile over the girl's sense of humour was lost as Yang once more remembered their current situation.

"Dammit," she said aloud, voicing her frustrations to no one in particular, "Pyrrha, what would you do?"

* * *

><p><em>Today is Blake's birthday. She is seventy-four.<em> The day is winding down, the sun slowly falling below the tops of the buildings. Most of the people she knows have already come and gone, visiting during the earlier hours of the day. Pyrrha and Ren had come first, offering a gift and giving their best wishes. Neptune later that day, staying for lunch. And Weiss and Ruby, still bickering even in their old age, had been the last to arrive, along with the final person, who was still there.

As if sensing she was being thought of, Yang pushes open the door to Blake's room, holding a tray with two steaming bowls on it. The smell of soup wafts through the air. Knowing Yang, she'd probably made the soup by heating it up herself instead of the stove, in an effort to 'save money.' Blake had given up lecturing the brawler about her blackened pots years ago.

Yang sets the tray on the nearby desk, moving one of the bowls to its surface. She holds out the tray with the remaining bowl to Blake, who takes it gratefully from her position in her bed. The fading sunlight streams in through the window, falling on the two of them as they eat the soup in silence.

The pair had grown used to silences falling between them, the need for words growing less and less over the years. Blake had found that when you spend a good portion of your life fighting alongside someone, you don't need to fill the silences as much. Now, after many years together, more things were left unsaid than spoken; yet still understood just the same.

The brawler finishes her soup, sighing happily and reclining in her chair by the desk.

"Man, that was some damn good soup," she says, patting her stomach happily.

"Careful, now," Blake states flatly, "you wouldn't want to get a big head or anything."

Yang laughs at the teasing, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah," she replies, standing up, "you done?"

Blake glances at her bowl, the soup not even half-eaten. She sighs and nods, pushing the tray slightly away. She doesn't miss the way Yang's eyebrows furrow for a moment, her partner's hidden concern showing through for a second, before her expression returns to her usual playful one.

"Well, you can always reheat it as a leftover," she says, placing the tray down next to her own empty bowl, "although, you've got lots of those already! Man, Blake, you're going to have lots of food to eat when you get well again."

The brawler turns to leave the room, tray in hand, when Blake's even voice stops her.

"Yang."

The woman in question freezes in her spot, and Blake knows that she knows what is coming. But Yang tries her best to pretend it isn't going to happen anyways, turning back to her partner with a shaky grin.

"Yes, partner?"

"Sit back down," Blake says softly, her amber eyes falling on Yang.

The woman complies, dropping the tray back onto the desk before pulling her chair closer to Blake's bedside, sitting down in it.

"Yeah?" Yang asks, her tone still trying to pretend she doesn't know what Blake is going to say. The Faunus doesn't comment on it, and instead turns to retrieve something from beside her bed.

Blake sits back up, and holds out a small package to Yang. It is wrapped in black paper, a yellow bow taped to the top. Yang swallows, and looks at her partner in forced confusion.

"Blake," she says slowly, "you know that you're supposed to _get_ the gifts on your birthday, right?"

Blake rolls her eyes, and shakes the box slightly.

"Just take it, Yang."

Her partner does, accepting it as if it were a bomb. Blake notices the way her hands shake slightly, but chooses not to mention it. Instead, she takes a deep breath, closes her eyes for a moment, and then opens them to stare at her partner.

"Yang," she says softly, causing the woman to look at her.

There is a moment of silence, Blake studying the lilac eyes she's come to know so well over the years. In their time together, she's seen a huge range of emotion in them – happiness, anger, and occasionally, even sadness – because even if Yang doesn't show her emotions all the time, her eyes always gave them away. And now, they speak volumes – begging Blake not to say it, not to point out what they both know is going to happen. What one refuses to acknowledge, while the other has come to terms with it months ago. What they've both known the moment the doctor's results came back.

But as much as Blake knows Yang doesn't want her to say it, she knows that she has to.

"Open it when I am gone."

The silence returns, far heavier than before. The air hangs with unspoken words, of pleading and promises gone by, of things they'd never said but always known. The glow of the setting sun fades away as they sit in silence, Blake studying her partner's face, emotion clashing in the pools of violet. Yet neither says a word, instead continuing to sit in the silence, letting the lack of words say everything they wanted to.

Eventually, Yang turns her chair around, letting Blake see only her back. For a moment, the Faunus thinks she is crying – until she feels a familiar warmth, and a glow appears behind Yang's shoulders.

"Yang, what are you–"

"I have something for you, too," the brawler says, cutting off Blake's question.

Then Yang spins her chair around again, revealing her gift, the grin on her face illuminated by the candle stuck in the object in her hands.

Blake stares at it for a moment, then back up to Yang's face.

"Yang Xiao Long," she says flatly, "where in Remnant did you find a tuna cupcake?"

Yang laughs as Blake takes the baked good from her, the previous moment forgotten. As they talk and laugh, conversations about strange baked goods and withheld locations echoing in the small bedroom, the last rays of the sun disappear behind the tops of the buildings, leaving only the glow of the fading orange sky and the light from a single candle to light up the room.

The light reflects off the surfaces in the room, in the depths of their eyes and across their faces. It falls on the bow of a package on the desk, sitting beside two soup bowls, one empty, one nearly full. The laughter and the light will eventually fade away, but the package will remain, hidden away until Yang has a reason to bring it out again.

* * *

><p>Pyrrha Nikos had been a goddess. Well, perhaps not in the literal sense, but she'd still managed to become one metaphorically – stories of her as a huntress, a teacher, and even as a friend had practically become legends at this point. The redhead had helped many people throughout her career, and Yang was convinced that somewhere out in the world of Remnant, there was a village who worshipped her as queen. Of course Pyrrha, humble as she was, always shook her head in denial.<p>

Her and Yang had become very good friends over the years, especially towards the ends of their lives, bonding in place of friends and partners who were no longer there. Unsurprisingly, Pyrrha had been the last of her friends to pass away - the woman made it to ninety, an age that was rare for anyone, least of all a famed huntress. As the last remaining members of their respective teams, the pair had talked a lot about the past, reminiscing on what used to be, particularly their huntressing years.

Pyrrha, unlike Yang, had lost her Beacon partner early on in her career. For a long time, she went on solo missions, or paired up with Ren and Nora. Eventually, she and Ren formed a pair, fighting on for each other in the place of the people they'd lost. However, that hadn't last long, nor had they done many jobs together – as close as they were, there were just some shoes you couldn't try to fill. Ren wasn't Jaune, Pyrrha wasn't Nora.

After retiring officially as a huntress, Pyrrha turned completely to teaching. She'd done it throughout her fighting career, but to a limited extent, often helping teach younger kids how to fight in tournaments and such. She'd become well liked as a teacher, and successful – which surprised no one, because Pyrrha was good at almost everything. Well, aside from cooking. In fact, her proficiency at teaching had spread into her huntress career, causing her to often sound much like a teacher when discussing battle plans or explaining situations ("What would Pyrrha do?" had eventually become a running joke amongst the Beacon teams. Nora had even made them all shirts that said it for her fiftieth birthday).

A teacher to the end of her days, Yang and Pyrrha had often talked a lot about her students. It amazed Yang that Pyrrha could stick with it for so long – she'd tried her own hand at teaching once before, and… it hadn't gone well, to say the least. Yang's own teammates had also gone into teaching after being huntresses – Ruby ran the weaponry program at Signal, Blake returned to Beacon to teach history and Faunus rights, and even Weiss helped teach dust training every so often. But Yang had never been the teacher type, instead falling back to her mechanics. Despite her clash with the profession, however, she'd always loved to hear Pyrrha's tales from the classroom.

One conversation had always stood out in particular. Pyrrha, one afternoon, had been recounting her experience with a particularly tough student – not only was he a a troublemaker, his semblance was also a strong once, causing him to even be a bit of a bully. It was this student – dubbed 'mini-Cardin' – that made Yang ask Pyrrha how she dealt with students like that, the ones who no one seemed able to teach. Pyrrha had smiled kindly, as if she had often been asked the question.

"Every student has a positive side to them," she'd said, "and often those with strong positive aspects have even more obvious negative ones. The key is finding a balance – you have to look beyond their problems, what they struggle with, and find out what they do well. Once you find that, the rest is easy – as you help them improve what they're good at, they eventually start to balance out the bad. There is no such thing as a bad student – just a very well hidden talent."

Her words had always stuck with Yang, despite the brawler never having been the teaching type. Yet now, finding herself with her own difficult student, Pyrrha's words still rang true. The memory echoed in Yang's head as she made her way home down the empty street, the softly falling rain having prompted people to retreat indoors.

"Hidden talents, huh?" Yang muttered to herself, trying to think of something that Summer had proven to be good at.

When nothing immediate came to mind, Yang sighed and shook her head. For once, she had no idea what Pyrrha would do – and no idea what she herself would do, either.

* * *

><p>Summer arrived early to training the next day. She let herself in – Yang usually left the door unlocked in the mornings, knowing the young girl would arrive. While to some it might seem a security risk, the neighbours in the area knew who Yang was – a retired huntress, who'd fought grimm the size of houses and had come away laughing. And for anyone who thought her age might hinder the woman and decide to try and rob her anyways – well, they'd be faced with several weapons meant for destroying much more than petty burglars. It was safe to say that unlocked doors weren't much of a concern for Yang.<p>

"Yang?" called Summer, pulling off her shoes.

She waited for the usual reply – often a location, like 'kitchen,' or something – but nothing came. Summer frowned; it was unusual for Yang to not respond. Part of her wondered if the woman had fallen asleep – she was an old lady, after all – but that concern was quickly overwhelmed by another one: the need to explore.

Summer had seen Yang's house before – it was small, and there wasn't a lot to it other than old photographs on walls and well-worn books piled on shelves. To this day, Summer still couldn't figure out why a title like 'ninjas of love' was filed with the history books. But while there wasn't a lot to explore, there was still an entire floor to see – Yang hadn't let Summer go upstairs before. And now, with the retired huntress nowhere in sight, Summer had the opportunity.

Stepping up the carpeted stairs, her feet making no sound, Summer briefly wondered if she was making the wrong choice. Yang had, after all, told her never to go upstairs. That thought, however, was quickly pushed out her head by her growing curiosity as she got her first look down the upstairs hallway – four doors, leading to unknown rooms.

The first room was a bathroom, the third a guest room. Both were clean - the latter looked as if it hadn't been used in months, possibly years – and Summer quickly lost interest in them. The second room turned out to be Yang's room which, to Summer's surprise, wasn't filled with old lady things. There was a lot piled in it, in fact – clothes spilling from drawers, animal shaped pillows, a collection of miscellaneous objects on the dresser. After several minutes of inspection, Summer moved on to the final door, which stood at the end of the hallway. The door creaked slightly as she pushed it open, as if it hadn't been used often.

Dark. That was the first thing Summer registered – there was no light on, and heavy curtains covered the windows, allowing only small bars of light to slip through them. These rays landed on varying surfaces throughout the room – mostly glass and metal, gleaming in spite of the dark interior. There was a funny smell in the air, almost as if someone had let a firework off in the room. As Summer's eyes adjusted, she began to take in more of the objects that lay in the room.

There were framed pictures hanging on the walls; photos filled with people Summer had never met, newspaper clippings and certificates hanging in between. Some of the metal appeared to be coloured, though slightly hard to see in the dark – patches of yellow, red – while others lacked hue, black and gray. Other things caught light, such as a pair of goggles and what appeared to be a hairpin, but the most predominant objects in the room didn't – clothes and fabrics, hanging on mannequins or pinned to the walls. There were sweaters and jackets, sashes and gloves, and even a large red cloak in the corner.

Summer moved towards the latter, stepping into the room. Before she could reach it, however, she heard her name called from the hallway.

"Summer…?"

Yang's voice trailed off, and Summer turned around just in time to see her mentor walk into view.

Yang stopped dead in the doorway. She didn't say anything, her face instead taking on an expression Summer couldn't place – remorse? nostalgia? – as she took in the open room. Her eyes fell on the metal, the fabric, before they finally fell upon Summer. Neither said a word, and for a moment, time seemed frozen.

"What are you…."

Yang's voice trailed off again, a question never asked. Then, her expression changed again – from the unpinnable one to an emotion Summer knew all too well: anger.

"What are you doing in here?!"

The words came as a yell, causing Summer to jump in fear. Yang's voice was filled with anger and cracking with sorrow, scaring the young girl. She took a step back, before Yang spoke again.

"Get out!"

Summer complied, rushing out in fear, practically pushing Yang aside in her quest to obey and get back into the hallway. She stood, shaking slightly, as Yang continued to stare into the room. Then the brawler turned to face the young girl – and Summer froze.

Yang's eyes were red, a pure crimson that had overtaken the usual soft violet. She stared at Summer with a piercing gaze, as if her eyes had been replaced by burning embers. Summer shook, as Yang took a step forwards, the young girl taking one back in turn.

"You…. I told you…"

Yang's words were trailing off again, but this time it seemed like she couldn't form a complete sentence, as if the emotions were keeping her words back. Then, suddenly, her hands shot out and grasped Summer's shoulders before she could jump away.

"I told you to never go in there!" she roared, causing the young girl to jump in fear, "But you didn't… you didn't listen…"

"Let go of me!" Summer cried, pushing her hands away and stepping backwards.

Yang didn't react, her anger having faded slightly, replaced by sadness.

"I told you…. you didn't…"

Yang's words were gone again, the woman lost in thought and memories as she sank to her knees, eyes still glowing crimson.

Summer stared at Yang for a moment, still shaking with fear. Then she slowly took a step back, turned, and raced down the hallway, down the stairs. Yang didn't give chase.

A moment later, the sound of a door slamming echoed throughout the house. If Yang heard it, she didn't give any indication – the woman still knelt in the hallway, seemingly lost in memories, action giving way to sorrow.

* * *

><p>Yang had known something was off the moment she saw Summer's shoes abandoned at the front door, the young girl nowhere to be seen. Yang had been in the backyard when the girl had knocked, unable to hear her call from her position outside. Kicking off her own shoes, Yang walked towards the front door. She was about to call Summer's name when she heard a creak from upstairs – the sound of a door being opened.<p>

Yang froze; Summer knew she wasn't allowed up there, but in retrospect, Yang had never known a child who put logic over curiosity. She started up the stairs, calling the girl's name.

"Summer…?"

Her voice trailed off as she saw the open door at the end of the hallway, name petering out as Yang took in the fact that Summer had found the one, single room she never wanted her to.

Yang rushed to the end of the hall, ready to haul the girl out and reprimand her – but the moment she got the the door, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Memories hit the woman like a train. The familiar scent of gunpowder emanated from the room, the weapons imbued with the smoke from years of use. The smell was mixed in with others – the faint smell of roses, a familiar perfume – and practically threw Yang back into the years, when the owners of the familiar scents had been present in her life.

Her eyes fell throughout the room – passing across the weapons that had long been put away, Ember Celica and Crescent Rose still somehow shining in the dim room, Myrenstar and Gambol Shroud also dully reflecting light. She took in the photographs of her friends and family, of achievements and memories she'd long stored away. The framed articles about them, the awards, the graduation certificates. Yang's eyes swept across the battle gear from both her team and those she'd fought with – the accessories and clothing that had stayed with them through Beacon and beyond.

Eventually her eyes fell on Summer, who stood in the middle of the room, looking worriedly at Yang.

"What are you…"

Yang tried to speak, still trying to pull herself from the memories that had hit her all at once. Her words trailed off, but Yang felt her emotions rise – sorrow slowly being overcome by anger, the two mixing it. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that an outburst wouldn't help matters any – but she couldn't find it within her to care, much less even try to stop it.

"What are you doing in here?!"

Her words came out loud, startling the young girl in front of her.

"Get out!"

Summer raced out of the room, stopping the hallway before her. She looked up at Yang – then froze, her eyes going wide as she took in her face. Yang knew her eyes were red – the heat may be gone, but the emotions were still there.

"You... I told you…"

Images flashed through Yang's head – her teammates fighting, her friends laughing, her life playing by – and it took her a moment to push them back long enough to find the words.

"I told you to never go in there!" she roared, her hands latching onto Summer's shoulders, anger surging briefly, "But you didn't… you didn't listen…"

"Let go of me!" Summer cried, pulling herself free from Yang's grip.

Yang didn't fight her, knowing that it hadn't been the right move. She slowly sank to her knees, words trailing off into useless phrases.

"I told you… you didn't…"

Words gone, she let the memories overtake her, lost in the past when her friends were still surrounding her. Summer took off, disappearing down the hall, but Yang didn't chase her. She dimly registered the sound of the door slamming – she knew she should go after the girl, but she couldn't find it within her to get up, much less move. The memories were still too strong, the door still open, her world still empty.

Time passed. It was probably about ten minutes – but for Yang, it felt like an hour, a lifetime even. Memories rushed by, things she'd tried her hardest to forget, to repress. After minutes passed by, they started to fade, the nostalgia letting up in the same way a speeding driver lets up on the gas pedal. Yang leaned back on her heels, blinking away the last vestiges of her past, of what her life once was.

Yang got to her feet, turning to face the room that had triggered it all. It hurt to even look in it – so much memorabilia from her life as a huntress that she almost fell back into memories again – but she managed to reach out, closing the door. It closed with a soft click, once again hiding away her past.

"Shit," she muttered softly, glancing down the hallway where Summer had run.

She knew she shouldn't have yelled at the girl – Yang had never told her why she couldn't go upstairs, much less to never go near the room at the end of the hall. The emotions had been so raw, so unexpected that Yang couldn't have helped her outburst – and now, she had to fix it, had to find Summer, had to tell it was alright.

Yang slowly made her way down the stairs, finding the front door half open – in Summer's attempts to close it behind her, she'd slammed it so hard it hadn't actually stayed in the frame. Retrieving her boots from the back door where she'd kicked them off, Yang tied up the laces, went out the door, and closed and locked it behind her.

She paused on the steps, looking up at the sky – clouds covered it, making the world seem gray. Shaking her head, Yang started making her way back to her street – she wasn't sure where Summer had gone: it could have been home, an alleyway, anywhere really. However, in spite of the possibilities being endless, Yang had an inkling that Summer was back where it all had begun – the playground that had become their training grounds over the past weeks.

Pushing her hands into her pockets, Yang walked in the direction of the park. She had a student to find, a relationship to mend, and memories to leave behind once more.

* * *

><p>It appeared that for all her growing age, Yang's instincts hadn't lessened any. As she had expected, Summer had fled to the playground – the young girl now sat on a swing in the empty park, rocking back and forth and staring at the ground as if lost in thought. Yang approached slowly, making her way along the path that led to the group of structures.<p>

The crunching of leaves beneath her feet gave away her presence before she could say anything – Summer looked up at the sound, and for a moment, Yang saw panic flash through her eyes. The girl looked ready to bolt, but she didn't, and Yang took that as a sign that it would be alright to talk.

She made her way over towards the swings, and sat down on the end swing, leaving an empty seat between herself and Summer. There was silence for a moment – Yang watched the clouds, Summer had returned to staring at the ground.

"Summer."

The girl looked up at the sound of her name, finding Yang still looking at the sky. Then, the elderly woman bowed her head and closed her eyes, continuing to speak.

"I'm sorry," she said, causing Summer to react slightly. An apology had probably been the last thing the girl had been expecting.

"I shouldn't have yelled at you like that," Yang continued, looking at Summer, "I just didn't expect to find you there, and reacted badly. And for that, I'm sorry."

"… I'm sorry too," Summer said after a moment, looking at her hands gathered in her lap, "I shouldn't have gone in there. You told me not to."

Their apologies to one another left a small silence neither seemed to want to fill, until Summer broke it.

"What… was that room?"

Yang let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She'd been expecting the question, but even if she had the words prepared, it still hurt to say them.

"That… was my remnant room," she said, "It's where I keep the things from my years as a huntress."

The huntress news didn't seem to surprise Summer at all – Yang guessed her parents had explained to her why Yang was able to teach her – but the 'keeping' part appeared to.

"Why do you keep your stuff hidden away?" she asked, faltering slightly as Yang looked at her, "I mean, if I had been a huntress, I'd want everyone to see my stuff. Especially my weapons. That's always the coolest part!"

She said the last part with such enthusiasm that Yang had to softly chuckle – she sounded just like Ruby had whenever she'd mentioned weaponry.

"It's not all my stuff," Yang replied, "but I guess it is pretty cool. I don't keep it on display, because, well…"

She trailed off, not sure how to phrase it for Summer. The young girl waited expectantly.

"It hurts," she said finally, "like how an old scar will ache from time to time. It's just a reminder of what used to be."

"Oh… was it bad or something?"

"What, the past? No, the past was good."

Yang smiled, remembering the good times of her life, her friends and family.

"It just hurts because it's no longer there," she explained, "like, if you lost your favorite toy. You'd still have toys – but they wouldn't be the same, wouldn't be as good as your lost one."

Yang's analogy seemed to work for Summer, regardless of how bad it was – the young girl nodded as if everything made sense.

"I get it," she said, then paused, "... Yang?"

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"I'm really sorry I went in there without permission."

Yang laughed, finding that all of her anger had disappeared.

"It's alright, Summer. Really."

The girl giggled with her, clearly relieved that her mentor wasn't upset with her anymore.

"But wow…" Summer began, already having changed topics, "your eyes are really scary when they're red."

Yang froze – she'd completely forgotten about her own outburst. Looking at Summer, she was surprised to see that the girl didn't seem scared – but curious, as if looking at Yang in a new way. And, Yang realized, she probably was. It had never occurred to Summer that Yang too was able to lose control – and Yang had never once thought to tell her about it.

"They are, aren't they?" Yang mused, "I'm sorry about scaring you."

Summer shook her head.

"No, it was kind of cool! I mean, I didn't think your eyes could turn red too, like mine."

She paused, turning and giving Yang a mischievous grin.

"I guess you can do something other than break your hip!"

Yang frowned, leaning over to try and push Summer off her swing; she was nowhere in range, but the girl laughed and tried to move out of the way anyways.

"Why didn't you have heat, though?" Summer asked, starting to sway back and forth from her sudden action.

"My semblance isn't strong enough for that," Yang replied, "I can still make small flames, but nothing huge anymore. My powers have faded over time, so while my eyes still glow red, I don't have the fire anymore. And don't even comment on me being too old for it."

Summer pouted, her joke already having been anticipated.

"Well, I guess that's a good thing, then," she said, "otherwise you would have burned the neighbourhood down!"

Burned the neighbourhood down. Yang froze, the words of her partner echoing in her head, matching that of the girl beside her. Blake had often joked that if Yang didn't set fire to her house while cooking, then she'd do so from getting angry over something little, like stubbing her toe. It had become a running line in their conversations – whenever Yang was cooking, Blake would amusedly warn her not to burn their neighbourhood down.

"Yeah," Yang mumbled, staring at Summer in something like wonder, "I guess I would have."

Then she paused, the reminder of Blake having brought back another memory. The Faunus over time had become accustomed to Yang's semblance, and all the quirks that came with it – particularly, how prone she was to outbursts. While they were more rare in their later years as huntresses, their time at Beacon had been filled with quick reactions from Yang, leading Blake to start to learn the signs.

The pair had been surprisingly adept at reading each other, their contrasting personalities allowing them to see deeper into one another. By their fourth year together, Blake had learned to read when Yang was about to snap – and not only was able to stop it, but was also able to deal with the aftermath. There had, of course, been occasions where not even Blake could stop the blonde brawler from rampaging – but that was where her knowledge of what to do after came in handy.

A memory flowed back to Yang – a time during their fourth year, after Yang had gotten into a fight with some of the other students. She couldn't recall what the fight had been about, but she knew she'd gone into rampage mode, eyes red and fists blazing. Blake had helped her after the fight, bringing her back to the dorms and taking care of her injuries. While the Faunus wrapped her hands, knuckles split and bleeding from connecting with several faces, Yang had apologized to her for once again going out of control. Blake had shaken her head, and told the brawler it was fine. And it was then that she had told the blonde the words that came back to her now, clear as day and strong as a bolt of lightning.

"It's okay that you lost control. The important part is that you got it back."

"What?"

Yang jerked in her seat, Summer's words pulling her back into the present. She looked at the girl, who was staring back at her with confusion on her face – Yang realized that she'd accidentally said the words out loud.

"It's something my partner once told me," Yang said, smiling as she thought of Blake, her hand coming up to rest gently on the black ribbon tied around her arm, "when I used to lose control."

She looked down at her hands, the knuckles scarred from years of punching enemies, healed but still remaining, withered with time.

"Everyone loses control sometimes. Even the best do every so often – not everyone can be in control, all the time. But the important part isn't that we lose control at all."

Yang glanced at Summer, the girl staring back at her with wide eyes, listening intently.

"It's that we get it back."

At this, Summer's face split into a wide grin. Yang felt her own face mirroring the expression. Summer then looked thoughtful, and held up a finger (Yang half expected her to yell 'eureka!').

"It's a good thing I'm good at that, then," she said, "getting my control back!"

Pyrrha's words came back to Yang then – find what they're good at, and build upon that – and the brawler realized that Summer was right. Once the fire had gone out, the temperature falling back to the usual state, Summer often moved on quickly.

"Yeah," replied Yang, "I guess you are."

As she said it, she knew she really was. And sitting on the swings, Yang realized that without even meaning to, she'd built a bridge between herself and Summer. Not only did she now know what to focus on to help Summer get better, she'd also made the girl realize that she, too, could lose control. That even the best, the brightest can have outbursts – and that Yang is no exception.

The pair fell into their usual banter, complete with comments on one another's age. As she teased Summer, Yang couldn't help but consider her friends: Pyrrha truly was a teacher, especially if she was managing to teach Yang, even if it was only through memories. And Blake – Blake was still helping to fix her from her outbursts, after all these years. Even better, Blake's words were no longer only helping Yang, but also helping Summer too.

Even after all this time, her friends were still helping her, Yang mused. It hurt in some ways to remember the conversations, but she had to laugh at the fact that both Blake and Pyrrha had become teachers from beyond the grave. Their lessons lived on in those that came after, passed on from teacher to student, never really fading away.

* * *

><p><em>Today is Yang's birthday. She is seventy-four.<em> Her house is quiet, the day still in the earlier hours of the morning. Yang moves throughout her home, getting ready for the day ahead. While the house isn't exactly messy, she still feels the need to clean it, knowing that Weiss will comment on any flaw she can, just for the sake of old jokes.

The heiress and her sister will be coming to visit around lunchtime, while Pyrrha and Ren promised to come later that evening. Neptune already called Yang that morning to wish her a happy birthday – he had explained that he was away on business, and wouldn't be able to make it in person. While Yang has always enjoyed talking with Neptune – he'd become a close friend of hers at Beacon, and the two had only grown closer since – the conversation had been short, brimming with words unsaid.

Neptune hadn't been the same since Sun's passing, the blonde Faunus' presence missing from his partner's life, something that hadn't happened since the pair had met in school. While a few years had flown by since Sun's passing, Yang knew that talking to her was only bringing back painful memories for Neptune. Even though he'd had time to move on – and had done so; at least, better than Ren – Yang's current situation mirrored his own. After all, it was almost impossible to forget about the missing presences of the Faunus they once called their partners.

Yang moves into the guest room, having already cleaned her own. It isn't dirty – no one has stayed over since Blake – but it's still dusty, the dark wood surfaces lighter from the layer of dust formed on them. After shaking out the bed covers, Yang moves on to the dressers, wiping off the tops of them. She pauses on the last one though – and very slowly, carefully pulls open the top drawer of the bureau.

About a half hour later, she returns downstairs, having left the guest room behind with its door closed. Weiss wasn't going to see it, so Yang didn't have to clean it – at least, that was her ruling. In any case, she didn't have to open the door again, didn't have to clean it up anymore.

The streets are starting to come alive, signs of neighbours moving in and out of their homes visible through the windows. Yang doesn't take notice – none of her neighbours really talk to her much anymore, though it's more out of a lack of conversation topics than anything else. The brawler rustles through the fridge and cupboards in her kitchen, digging through cans of food and glassware until she locates what she is looking for.

Heading out to her back porch, Yang sits on the back stoop, reaching out for the bowl that sits nearby. A long time ago, Blake started to feed the stray cats that lived in Yang's area, causing them to often come looking for food. Most of the cats no longer came, save a couple of new strays, but one cat had stayed in the neighbourhood, quickly becoming Yang's favorite. He was shy and skitted away whenever Yang tried to pet him, but over time he'd become more accostumed to her presence.

Pulling out the plate she'd grabbed from the fridge, Yang balances the cat's bowl on her knee as she picked up a piece of fish from the plate. Carefully holding it in one hand, she conjures up a small flame in the other, proceeding to roast the fish. Yang holds it for a few moments, before casting out the flame and dropping the fish into the bowl. She pushes it back to the corner of the porch, knowing that the cat will come to eat it when she isn't around.

Yang places the plate back down, reaching for the object she'd pulled from the cupboard – a small, single striped candle. She lights it aflame too, and for a moment, simply sits in the quiet of the morning, the sounds of her neighbourhood coming alive around her. She blows out the candle shortly after, before the hot wax can drip onto her hands – she doesn't make wishes much these days, and on this birthday, she can't think of anything to wish for. Nothing possible by the universe's standards, anyways.

Placing down the candle, Yang leans back to watch the morning sky. Above her, the awning over the back porch is drying from the night's rain, the water droplets on the windows already having gone. The rooms with windows facing the back of her house are empty, one being a spare room she uses for storage sometimes, and the other being the guest room.

In the guest room, which still remains incompletely cleaned, is an open drawer, and an abandoned package lying on the bed. The drawer is dusty, a small rectangle clean and void of the dust, where the package had lain hidden away. The box itself is open on the bed, with black wrapping paper spread around it, a yellow bow abandoned nearby. A small note sits beside it, partially pushed back into its envelope, water marks on the page still drying. The box itself is empty, its contents already having been taken out.

Said content is now with Yang as she sits on the porch, watching the light in the sky grow with each passing minute. As the brawler shifts in her seat on the porch, her hair sways in time with her movements.

Her hair, once gold and shining, is now streaked with gray, but still remains long as ever. It's pulled back into a braid – Yang had refused to cut it, but she begrudgingly began to tie it back, as it kept getting in her way. Strands stick out of the braid, hair as unruly as ever, but it pulls together well at the end, tied tight with the contents of the box.

Hours from now, Yang's teammates will visit, followed later by her friends. But for now, she can still and let time pass by, letting the morning wind sway the braid of gray and gold, held together with a small, familiar black ribbon.


	3. Winter

_Today is Ruby's birthday. She is forty-three._ The brunette is still confined to bed rest, but that doesn't stop her from celebrating the day with as much youth and vigor as she can. Despite maturing over the years, birthdays are still one of Ruby's favorite events – what better thing to celebrate than the fact you are alive? Several of her friends still share this sentiment – Sun, Yang, Nora – while others are more indifferent to birthdays – Weiss, Velvet, Pyrrha.

Speaking of the heiress, Weiss is present for Ruby's birthday – the huntress has been taking care of her partner ever since she sustained her injury on the battlefield, making sure Ruby didn't try to race out of bed and pull her stitches out, or something like that. Ruby knows Weiss feels partially responsible for her injury, being her partner and all, but even her regret doesn't compare to that of her sister's.

Yang hadn't been by to see her sister very much – while she'd stuck by her side almost non-stop while Ruby had been hospitalized, the blonde had disappeared once the need for words became apparent. Blake had been by to see Ruby several times, each time offering up words in place of Yang. It hurt, but the younger sister knew that the woman needed time to heal, time to forgive herself. Ruby had forgiven her sister months ago, whether Yang accepted it or not.

"Yang!"

The sound of her sister's name shakes Ruby from her thoughts, Nora's exuberant yell resounding from downstairs. The hammer wielding huntress and her partner are helping Weiss with food for the evening – although, judging by the amount of reprimands from the heiress, the redhead is tasting more than she is cooking. Pyrrha had tagged along as well, but she'd left early to return to her injured partner, giving her best regards to Ruby.

A moment after Nora's yell, Ruby hears the creak of the front door, followed by the sounds of footsteps entering her home. There is a flurry of conversation, punctuated by Weiss's sharp comments and Nora's happy giggles, too muddled for Ruby to hear properly. She does catch the last line, though – "upstairs, on the left."

Footsteps resound with the command, tromping up the old wooden stairs. Ruby can tell who they belong to – fighting alongside her friends for years had left her with more than just battle habits – and sits up a little straighter, ready for the company. Moments later, two figures appear around the doorframe – a dark haired woman, with a blonde companion lingering back behind her. Ruby smiles at Blake and her sister, the former returning the grin.

Blake steps further into the room, coming up to sit in the chair that remained at Ruby's bedside.

"Hello, Ruby," she says, smiling softly, "how are you doing?"

"I'm _bored_," Ruby replies, flashing a mischievous grin, "being confined to bed rest is worse that that time we fell into the fishing docks. It's especially boring too, since Weiss is around."

Blake laughs at this, well accustomed to the playful jabs the heiress and scythe wielder often exchange with one another.

"It can't be that bad," she says, "after all, Weiss hasn't taken away your cookies yet."

"Don't give her any more ideas," Ruby groaned, "or else it'll be worse than when she tried to ban me from them in third year."

The memory causes them both to smile, as the incident had been pretty bad – Ruby's love for cookies and Weiss' disdain over it had been a running joke for them throughout the years. The heiress' attempt at banning the younger girl from her favorite treat had been disasterous, to say the least, and neither party had fully forgotten it.

"Blaaaaake!"

Nora's yell echoes up from downstairs, drowing out Weiss' protests from inside the kitchen.

"Come taste the chicken!"

Blake rolls her eyes at this, but stands up anyways.

"I'll be back in a bit," she said, nodding to the younger woman, "once Nora stops trying to force feed me whatever concoction has come out of that kitchen."

Ruby laughs and raises her hand in goodbye as the dark haired woman retreats, pausing in the doorway. Yang still lingers, leaning up against the door jamb, not fully in the room. The blonde looks up as Blake passes, a hesitant expression on her face. Blake reaches out and gives Yang a light shove with her fingertips, causing the blonde to stumble slightly into the room.

"Talk," she says, amber eyes staring pointedly at her partner.

Then quietly, like everything else she does, Blake disappears around the doorway and into the hallway. The sisters listen to the retreating footsteps for a moment, before silence fully takes over the room.

Yang stands awkwardly by the foot of Ruby's bed, looking anywhere but at her sister – her eyes jump from the package in her hand, to the floor, to the pictures on the walls. Ruby watches her, not saying anything – she knows her sister well enough to not try and push her to speak, but rather to wait until the brawler finds her own words.

After a minute or two, Yang breaks the silence herself, sighing as she sits down into the chair Blake had recently vacated.

"How... how's the injury?" she asks, finally looking up at Ruby

It was the first words she'd said to her sister in the months since she'd received the injury.

"Healing up just fine," Ruby says, not even missing a beat.

Yang blinks, thrown off by her simple answer.

"Well, that – that's good," she says, before glancing down at her lap and picking up the package that resides there.

"Here," she mutters, holding out the gift to her sister, looking away, "This is for you."

Ruby accepts it slowly, an eyebrow raised. Of all the things she'd expected to come from Yang, a gift hadn't been one of them.

"Thanks," she replies softly, turning her attention to opening the gift.

A ribbon falls, then paper, revealing a white box underneath. Yang is watching her now, eyes carefully tracking her reaction. Ruby slowly lifts the lid of the box – and instinctively takes a breath at what lies within.

Red fills her vision. With trembling hands, Ruby slowly pulls the object out of the box – crimson cloth spills across her lap as the fabric unfolds, a familiar object making itself recognizable. There, in Ruby's hands, sits an object she'd thought she'd lost forever – a worn red cloak, carried with her since childhood.

The last time she'd seen the cloak was during the battle in which she had been injured – a beowolf had snagged it, tearing it slightly – and when she'd awoken in the hospital without it, she'd assumed it had been ruined. Yet here it is, held tightly in her hands – the exact same cloak, right down to the 'made with love' tag sewn in around the collar.

Ruby lets her hands fall, the fabric billowing around her as she does. Mouth slightly open, she stares at her sister – who looks between her and the cloak, eyes wary. Words do not come to the younger sister, leaving her only able to gaze at her sister in confusion and wonder. Eventually, Yang clears her throat, looking away as she speaks.

"It was pretty badly torn up when you were… injured," she says, voice wavering slightly at the last word, "even Weiss thought it couldn't be salvaged. She figured we could make it into a scarf, or something.

Yang looks down at her hands, fists unclenching to reveal open palms, dotted and scarred.

"I fixed it up as best I could," she says softly, "I know it's not as good as Summer could have done, but…"

Yang lets her sentence trail off, but Ruby is no longer really listening to her words. The woman is instead taking in the fact that in the time her sister had been avoiding her, the blonde woman had actually been taking the time to piece back together a piece of her childhood, one of her most important possessions.

Ruby heolds up the cloak again – now, upon further inspection, she can see the lines of stitches that hold the fabric back together. Rows of red thread scored the cloak like lines in the palm of a hand, small uneven stitches recreating the cape. The lines stood out in contrast to the original hems – Yang's clumsy stitches next to Summer's gorgeous ones. Still, it was clear how much focus had gone into the stitching – Ruby pictured Yang trying to keep her hands as steady as possible, stitches as even as she could make them. Hands usually used for destruction instead being used for creation.

Yang had fallen into focusing on those very hands, studying her palms in the silence that had returned. Ruby lays down the cloak, softly calling her sister's name to catch the blonde's attention. Yang looks up at her voice, startling slightly at the expression on Ruby's face.

"Sis...?" she says slowly, trying to place the emotions on the younger woman's face.

Ruby says nothing, for a moment. Then, carefully, she leans forwards and catches her unsuspecting sister in an enveloping hug. She feels Yang tense at the sudden contact – but after a moment, the brawler hesitantly returns at, strong arms coming up to rest gently on Ruby's back. The sister says nothing, but instead acknowledges Yang's return by holding her tighter, pulling her close and resting her head on her shoulder.

They sit that way in silence for a moment, until Ruby feels an odd sensation – Yang's breath hitches, first once, then again, and then several times in a row. It wasn't clear why until Ruby fell a warmth on her shoulder – the unmistakable sensation of tears. She said nothing, but began to slowly rub a hand up and down Yang's back, letting the action say what she couldn't put into words. Yang only cried harder, sobs starting to shake the brawler, her fingers scrabbling on Ruby's back, trying to hold on even more to her sister.

Ruby didn't know how long they sat that way – minutes, possibly even an hour. No one disturbed them, and Ruby knew that Blake had left them alone on purpose, somehow even managing to quell Nora from interrupting the sisters' reunion. Yang, for her part, cried freely – and it was in her tears that Ruby felt her pain, her regret, her guilt. Eventually, Yang pulls away, wiping at the few loose tears that still slipped down her cheeks.

"Ruby," she says, voice thick with emotion, "I'm sorry."

She pauses, but Ruby waits, knowing she still has more to say.

"I'm sorry for everything – for not having come to see you until now, for the gift, for the injury –"

Yang's voice catches at the last part, tears starting to resurface.

"It wasn't your fault," Ruby interrupts, eyes narrowing slightly at her sister, "my injury was never your fault."

"But–"

"No, Yang, listen to me. I know you've been blaming yourself for my injury. I know how you felt when we stepped off that battlefield, and how you've felt ever since. And I'm sorry for not having been able to talk to you about it sooner."

Yang tries to interrupt, but Ruby cuts her off with a shake of her head, silencing the brawler.

"Yang, we all make bad choices. We buy the wrong things, meet the wrong people, make the wrong choices in a fight. And sometimes they end out okay, sometimes badly, sometimes for the best. We never know until they've happened. But if there's one thing I do know – it's that my choosing to save you that day, injury be damned, was _anything_ but a bad decision."

Yang began to cry again, silently, tears slowly rolling down her cheeks.

"I don't care that I got hurt. I don't care that I have to put up with Weiss' constant reprimands for the next three months. I don't even care that my huntressing career is over."

She pauses at this – it is hard to admit, but she knows the truth, and also knows that she can accept it.

"I care that I can still see my sister, can still talk to her, can still hear her laugh. And I know that if I hadn't chosen to jump in front of you during that fight, then I wouldn't be able to do all those things anymore. It doesn't matter what I may have lost, Yang. What matters the most to me, and always will, is that I haven't lost you."

At this, Yang's control breaks. She moves forwards, grabbing Ruby into a hug, her usual strength showing through. Ruby holds her back tightly, letting her older sister cry into her shoulder. After a moment, Yang pulls away once more, smiling openly.

"Just what in Remnant," she says, wiping a tear away, "did I ever do to deserve a sister like you?"

"I could ask the same of you," Ruby shoots back, smiling at her sister.

And just like that, the sisters fall back into their old habits – playful banter returning to the room, light teasing and laughter filling their conversation. Downstairs, two women will smile at the sounds of the laughter, the dark haired one smiling against the rim of her mug while the white haired one smiles at the countertop.

There are many things in this world that can be replaced – clothing, weapons, even homes. But some things, once lost, are lost forever, and their void can never be filled. And of all these things, there is one that both Ruby and Yang know they are lucky to never have lost – a sister's love.

* * *

><p>Puffs of steam filled the air, emanating from Yang's mouth like the smoke of a dragon. She smirked at the imagery – there had been a time, at one point in her life, when she'd been able to control her flames as if breathing them. It hadn't been a particularly powerful move, or her most useful one – she set Blake's asscape on fire at one point – but it had been a neat party trick. At least, until Weiss banned her from using it, as revenge over the loss of her favorite curtains.<p>

A surge of heat suddenly flared to life nearby her, drawing Yang's attention back to her concentrating student. Summer stood several meters away, pulsing her semblance in an even beat, as if to a song neither of them could hear. Watching the young girl fall into a state of concentration, her eyes closed and her brow slightly furrowed, Yang seized her chance. Reaching into her pocket, the blonde withdrew a small rubber ball, aiming it towards the defenseless girl in front of her.

She paused, waiting for the right moment – then, as the girl sent out another flare of heat, tossed the ball directly at Summer. It hit her right on the shoulder, a glancing blow that didn't hurt, but did catch her attention. Red eyes snapped open, and Yang felt the air around her spike slightly in temperature. She raised an eyebrow at the young girl, who caught her mistake as well, irritation having sparked a reaction.

Summer frowned, looking away and breathing steadily, trying to bring her semblance back under control. The air temperature wavered, changing from cool to warm, and back again. After several minutes, the heat dissipated completely, leaving Yang shivering in the cold once more.

"Good job, kiddo," Yang said, sticking up a gloved thumb in approval, "Now try activating it again."

Summer nodded, closing her eyes once more to try and concentrate. Once again, a pulse of heat flared to life around them – but this time, it was much hotter than before, melting the thin layer of snow that lay on the ground. The heat remained longer, once again changing intensity as Summer struggled to get it back under control. As the warmth faded away once more, the young girl groaned, throwing her head back.

"I thought I had it that time," she complained, rubbing at her eye, which had faded back to its usual colour.

Yang laughed, the sound carrying easily through the cold air, her breath in wisps around her mouth.

"It sure isn't that easy," she said, walking over towards the girl and dropping down to one knee, "what do you say we call it a day? I'd rather not lose my fingers to the cold, thank you very much."

Summer frowned, eyes focusing on the melting snow before her gaze snapped back up to Yang.

"One more time," she demanded, determination set into her young features, "but on hard mode this time."

Yang quirked an eyebrow at the request.

"Hard mode, eh?" she repeated, then smiled in relent, "sure, why not. Let's give it a shot."

She stepped away, giving the younger girl space once more. Summer looked at her, nodded to signify her readiness, and closed her eyes. The air around them began to heat up once more, steady warmth that grew at the edges of the snow and brought feeling back into Yang's fingertips. The elderly woman gave pause, about a minute, before she reached into her pocket and withdrew several of the small rubber balls.

Catching the heat at its peak, she tossed one at Summer – almost immediately, the air around them spiked slightly, but Yang didn't relent, instead tossing another, then one more, and again, until Summer's control finally broke. The air around them flared sharply, heat hitting Yang's face as though she were standing too close to the sun. Long used to the heat of her own semblance, Yang didn't react, but the few leaves scattered in the snow around them shriveled up. The snow itself melted completely, a puddle forming on the playground's tarmac.

Summer clenched her fists, eyes snapping open to reveal reddened pupils. Yang, seeing her chance, tossed one final ball at the girl – Summer reached out and caught it, the rubber melting slightly in her grip. Slowly, but steadily, the temperature fell once more, reverting to the winter's cold. Steam rose from the ground and their mouths, tendrils of steam dissipating into the frigid air.

Summer groaned loudly again, hands coming up to rub at her eyes before dragging down her face, pulling down her eyelids. Yang laughed at the girl's reaction; it wasn't the first time it had happened, after all. Summer's hands stopped, the girl's eyelids still pulled down slightly, making her look like some sort of monster. She let go of her face then, pouting at her elder's amusement. Yang snorted at the expression on her face, before reaching down and scooping up a handful of snow.

"Oh, lighten up," she laughed, "You asked for it, after all!"

Yang threw the fistful of snow towards the girl – Summer raised her hands, letting her semblance activate once more. The snow melted immediately – and then promptly gave Summer a shower. The young girl yelped, shaking the water droplets from her hair and eyelashes, before glaring at her mentor, who had broken into full on laughter.

"I told you it wasn't perfect," Yang said with a grin, "fire doesn't stop everything."

Summer nodded begrudgingly, before she turned to retrieve the scattered balls from Yang's last attack. Handing them back to the woman, she gave a half-smile, looking up at Yang.

"Guess we should stop there for the day," she said, mirth twinkling in her eyes, "wouldn't want to tire you out by tossing balls around, now would we?"

"You're just mad because you can't keep up with all these balls," Yang shot back, not even missing a beat. Summer gave her a light shove, scowling as the elderly woman laughed.

"Alright, enough talking about balls," Yang said, pretending to wipe a tear away from her eye, "time to head home."

"Sweet!"

The young girl threw her hands in the air in triumph, racing out of the park ahead of her mentor.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean? Are you trying to tell me you don't like hanging out with me?"

"What's there to like about hanging around with a grandma who talks about balls?"

Summer's laugh filled the air as Yang rolled her eyes, raising her hands in mock surrender. The woman followed her pupil out of the park, Summer racing ahead of her in the street. Yang had taken to walking with the girl until their paths split, somehow enjoying the time with the girl.

Summer was still laughing, her initial howls having faded away into small giggles. Yang listened, an odd sense of nostalgia in her heart – no matter how much she had tried to deny at first, hearing it assuaged all doubts. Summer had Ruby's laugh, a mirthful sound that brought smiles to those around it. The first time the girl had laughed – and really, truly laughed – Yang had almost done a double take; she could have sworn it was her sister laughing at her once more.

Ruby wasn't the only one she saw in Summer, either. More and more, she saw remnants of her former teammates – Blake's snark, Weiss's pout. Even her friends appeared in the young girl, in the way she waved her hands when she talked, her endless enthusiasm, her moments of quiet contemplation, her genuine apologies. JNPR, Sun, Neptune, Velvet – they appeared in quick flashes, just enough to shake Yang up, then were gone again.

Yang was starting to see them in herself, too – she'd catch herself once in a while taking on the mannerisms of a teammate: Ruby's enthusiastic way of explaining an idea; Blake's endless ability of countering with sarcastic replies; even Weiss's brutal sincerity. Yang had always known they'd taken on characteristics of one another – fighting alongside someone for many years would do that – but she'd never seen it reflected in a member other than her team, making it even more obvious in herself.

"Hey, Yang! Check this out!"

Yang pulled herself out of her thoughts and back towards her young pupil, who had pulled herself up onto a nearby fence and was walking along the edge of it. Yang smiled at the sight – despite having a nearly fully-awakened semblance, Summer was still just a kid, and Yang tended to forget that sometimes.

"Alright, kiddo, come down before you hurt yourself."

Summer stuck her tongue out in protest – Yang may or may not have returned the gesture – but jumped down anyways, obeying her mentor. She returned to Yang's side, the pair strolling down the rural street. It was quiet, the cold winter air having pushed the neighbours back into their homes, to the safety of their fireplaces and central heating. The two troublemakers in the street were their own personal furnaces, so they didn't have much of a problem with the season.

Summer walked in dramatized steps, taking long strides to try and match that of Yang's. The gestures made the elderly woman smile, falling back into her thoughts. Summer did remind her of her teammates and friends, but there was someone else she saw in the girl; someone she couldn't exactly place, but saw signs of even more often than the others.

The pair reached the end of the street, where it gave way to a crossing, and heard their names called from nearby.

"Summer? Yang?"

They turned to see Scarla standing nearby, arms holding onto bags filled with groceries.

"Mum!"

Summer raced towards her mother, Scarla placing down the bags in time to catch her child in an open armed hug, spinning her around. Yang smiled at the sight, memories of her own childhood and a previous Summer returning to her.

"Training done for the day?" Scarla asked, putting her daughter down and ruffling the girl's hair. She frowned as her fingers made contact.

"Summer, why is your hair all wet?"

The girl pouted overtly, pointing a finger at her teacher.

"Yang threw a snowball at me," she grumbled, causing both Scarla and the perpetrator to laugh.

"Can't you just dry yourself off anyways?" asked her mother, having heard all about the traits of her daughters semblance, when it wasn't lighting her tablecloths on fire.

Summer grinned, and was about to engage her semblance when Scarla caught wind of the impending danger – at least, danger to her groceries – and intervened.

"Noooo," she said firmly, dragging out the word, "no engaging your semblance right next to someone who _isn't_ fireproof."

She sent a pointed look at her daughter at her last words, causing Summer to rub her head and apologize sheepishly. Yang smiled fondly at their interaction, before she raised a hand to indicate her departure.

"Well, I guess this is where I'll take my leave for today," she said, catching the attention of both mother and daughter, "see you tomorrow, Summer."

"Take care!"

Scarla's farewell mixed with Summer's enthusiastic wave as Yang turned around and started to make her way down the street, back to her own home. She paused at the cry of her name, turning back around to face Summer, who stood in the middle of the street, Scarla already having begun to walk away before she stopped.

"Hey, Yang!" Summer repeated, a grin a mile wide spreading across her face, "Xiao Long!"

Yang's mouth dropped open in shock – she couldn't even find it within her to wince at the way Summer had butchered the first part of her name to make it sound like 'sho.' Satisfied at the elderly woman's reaction, Summer cackled fiendishly, then turned and ran back towards her mother.

Yang stood in the street for a minute more, watching the part retreat. Despite having been an avid pun enthusiast for many years, she'd never expected _Summer_ of all people to throw one at her, least of all about her name. She shook her head slowly, eyebrows raised.

"Dear god, Ruby," she said softly, "I've created a monster."

* * *

><p>The empty house greeted Yang, the sound of the door echoing through the rooms as she closed it behind her and stomped her boots on the mat. Pulling off her jacket and stepping out her boots, she made her way towards the kitchen, towards the cabinet that held a vast amount of tea.<p>

She'd honestly never been a huge fan of the drink – coffee was more her style – but her partner had been an avid drinker of tea, hoarding more flavours than the brawler had ever suspected even existed. Once Blake had passed, Yang had given most of the tea to Weiss – but when the heiress was gone too, the tea had made its way back to Yang, stored away in a cupboard. She made a cup once in a while, especially on the colder days, and it felt as if both Blake and Weiss were still around, at least in the warmth of the mug she held in her hands.

As Yang waited for the hot water to boil – she didn't think she'd ever get over having to wait for something to boil, having been an instant heater for many years – she walked into the front room, flopping down onto the couch situated there. The springs creaked underneath her weight, the furniture having borne its fair share of weight over the years. Stains marred the dark fabric, only noticeable up close – Jaune's ink spill still remained on the cushions all these years later.

Yang rolled onto her back, arm slung over her eyes for a while, before she let it slide off her face. Her eyes drifted up to the ceiling as her thoughts drifted into the past, spurred on by Summer and Scarla's interactions earlier that day.

The scene had been overly familiar to the woman – it mirrored Yang as a young girl, with a Summer of her own: Ruby's biological mother, Yang's 'adopted' one. Though Summer hadn't been her true mother, Yang had never seen her in any other way, nor had seen Ruby as anything but her full sister. And seeing the new Summer and her own mother had brought back memories of Yang's childhood, of a woman who smiled like the sun and smelled faintly of roses and baked cookies better than anyone else in the world (Yang had tried to make her recipe in the years since her passing; they'd never even come close to Summer's standards).

The water finished boiling in the other room, the kettle signifying the heat with a shrill shriek in the other room, but Yang didn't get up to tend to it. Instead, she continued to lie there, letting her memories drift through the past. She didn't think too hard, didn't latch on to any memory in particular, but instead just allowed the years to pass by in the same way the world passes by on a road trip: flowing by steadily, details lost in blurs of colour and distance.

The warmth of nostalgia blended with the slight pain of memories in Yang's chest, and eventually the brawler sat up, running a hand through her disheveled hair. A sense of calm had come over her, an occurrence that always came from thinking about her sister. Yang smiled as she considered this – thinking about Ruby had always calmed her down, and eventually that sense of calm had spread from memories of Blake and the former Summer as well.

Yang paused, her brows furrowing as she considered this. She had, in fact, forgotten that Ruby had always been a source of calm for her older sister – well, not quite forgotten, but rather had become so used to it that it no longer occurred to her anymore. The trick to keeping her cool in stressful situations had always been the presence or thought of her sister – and maybe, Yang realized, that's what Summer needed too.

Not necessarily a sister, but just someone who Summer felt safe around, someone who helped the girl stay calm. Her parents, perhaps, or a distant relative, or even a neighbour. Heck, even Yang could fill that role – but really, there was only one way to find out, and that was to go and ask.

Yang sighed, pulling herself up from the couch. She cast a glance towards the kettle, still sitting on the stove – in her musings, the warmth had faded from the pot, leaving it with the same lukewarm water it had begun as. She abandoned the prospect of tea, instead heading back to the front door to pull her jacket and boots back on.

It had begun snowing lightly outside, something Yang could see through the window. She grasped the door handle, ready to make the trip to Summer's house. Before she did, however, she turned to the photograph that sat on its usual shelf, and muttered a soft goodbye to her teammates. Then she opened the door, stepping out into the snow.

* * *

><p><em>Today is Ruby's birthday. She is seventy-nine. <em>The room is quieter than usual, but still merry, laughter coming from the four inside of it. Ruby sits in the middle, Yang and Weiss on either side – and Pyrrha, the last of Team JNPR, mirrors her. The absence of their other teammates and friends is, as always, noticeable, but they've had several years to get used to it.

The cake has been cut – a small, cookie cake, because Ruby's never fully grown out of that habit – presents given, words exchanged and wishes made. Now, the four make small talk, mentioning the weather, politics, _adult things_. They talk of the current state of hunters and huntresses, but take clear to steer away from Beacon, their own careers, and those who shared it with them.

Ruby shifts, the pillows against her back sliding lower, only making her more uncomfortable. Weiss, ever observant, catches the movement and reaches out to give her a hand. As she settles back in, she looks up to see Pyrrha and Yang watching her carefully, worry in their eyes.

"You alright, sis?" Yang asks quietly, to which Ruby nods emphatically.

"Just fine," she replied, "pillows just starting falling, that's all."

The former redhead and blonde nod, satisfied by her answer. To say anything else would have worried them at this point, at least for Yang, who has been following the details of her infection ever since she'd been informed of it. With the winter cold chilling her bones, Ruby's wound had fallen to an infection – and while the doctors said it wasn't anything to be concerned of, she knew her sister was worried nonetheless. And so, to appease any lingering doubts, Ruby falls back into her usual upbeat tone, digging into her remaining cake with gusto.

"Wow," she says happily, "this cake is great."

Weiss smiles proudly – at some point, she gave up on fighting her partner's love for cookies, and instead decided to just learn to make them – and Yang returns to her own slice, making happy noises as she devours it.

Then, the words are out, before anyone can stop them.

"Aw, man, Nora would have loved it."

Yang freezes, fork still in her mouth, realizing exactly what she has said. Weiss and Ruby still as well, eyes slowly coming up to rest on Pyrrha, whose eyes are downcast, pointed towards her lap. Time hangs still for a moment, and then–

"She really would have. Ren would probably have scolded her for eating too much."

Pyrrha's emerald eyes, bright as ever, twinkle with both nostalgia and sadness. Ruby feels a smile grow on her own face – glances to Yang and Weiss show similar results for them. Yang laughs, the happy sound straining to fight back the slight edges of sorrow creeping in.

"Blake probably would have done the same to me," she says, earning wider grins from her teammates.

"Jaune would have dropped his slice," Weiss mutters, prompting a loud laugh from Pyrrha.

The jokes go on from there, filling the room with laughter louder than the four expected they could make. There is sadness tinged in it all, of course, as always happens whenever they remember those who are gone. But as they recall their friends, Ruby almost feels as if they're still with them, still in the room, just hidden from view.

She can hear Sun's booming laugh, Jaune's spluttered protest, Nora's exuberant giggles and Ren's quiet counterparts. It is almost as if talking about them brings back Blake's smirks, Velvet's smiles hidden behind her hand, and Neptune's eye rolls. Ruby glances at the three who remain – her sister, her partner, and her everlasting friend – and thinks that even if the others are gone, there is still plenty to be thankful for, and plenty that remains. Because in the laughter and the jokes, her friends live on, and it almost feels like nothing has changed.

Later, Pyrrha and Weiss will head downstairs with plates to the kitchen, and Yang will stay behind with her sister, groaning from having eaten too much cake. Ruby will tease, remarking on how she really did need Blake to keep her from doing stupid things, and Yang will make some half-hearted protest against it. The sisters will fall into silence, then, the soft sounds of clinking tableware interrupting the comfortable quiet that has fallen between them.

Then, in the warm glow of the setting sun, Ruby will ask Yang one thing.

"Do you think Summer would have been proud of us?"

Yang will take a moment to think about the question, answer forming as she pulls up memories of a lifetime gone by. Of the people they'd saved, the same way their mother had given her life to protect those who needed it. Of their relationship as sisters, tested by time but always remaining, steadfast and strong. Of their lives with their friends, filling each passing day with laughter and love. Of the legacy Summer left behind, that Yang and Ruby carried on.

It will take her a moment, but eventually, she will answer.

"I know she would have."

Ruby will smile, and Yang will smile back, and they will fall into the small talk that has become so common between the pair, the mechanist and the weapons specialist. They will continue to do so until Pyrrha and Weiss return, and the afternoon will fall back into its usual pattern, the question of Summer long forgotten.

But Yang won't forget it – no, she'll remember it later, on a cold day with grey skies and softly falling snow, the day she no longer has a sister. But until then, she won't think about the question, won't consider that her sister knew she was at the end of her days, won't even wonder how long they have left together. Instead, she'll sit by Ruby's side and continue to laugh with her, for as long as she still can.

* * *

><p>Yang tromped up the steps of Summer's porch slowly, shoulders hunched against the cold winter air. She knocked on the door heavily, breath coming out as puffs, the steam fogging up the glass on the windows. She could hear footsteps from within – a faint 'coming' sounded from behind the door – and a moment later, the door was unlocked with a jingle and pulled open. Scarla stood in the doorway, and for a moment Yang saw surprise flash across her face, before she smiled warmly. She stepped aside, gesturing for the elderly woman to enter as she spoke.<p>

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise. Please, come in!"

Yang obliged, brushing the light layer of snow dusting her shoulders off as she entered the warmth of the home. She glanced around as she stomped off her boots – she'd never really entered Summer's home, instead lingering at the doorway like some kind of vampire forbidden to enter. Pictures hung on the wall, but glares of light kept her from seeing the details. Rugs sat on the hardwood floors, and children's clothes were scattered around – sweaters hung on the stair railing, sneakers fell out of the closest, and a bin of hats and gloves lay abandoned beside the door. Scarla's face matched the nature of her name as she took in the mess, before looking up at Yang sheepishly.

"Sorry about the mess," she said, "I would have cleaned up had I known you were coming."

Yang laughed, waving a hand in dismissal.

"It's alright," she replied, an easy grin settling on her face, "I lived with three teenage girls in a small dorm for four years. I know what messes can look like, believe me."

Scarla laughed, a sound akin to the ringing of bells. She gestured for Yang to follow her, stepping through a doorway into a small kitchen.

"I was just about to put some tea on," she said, just as Yang caught sight of the kettle and mugs, "would you like some?"

Yang nodded, guiltily recalling her own kettle, which she had abandoned on her own stove. Scarla set the water to boil, grabbing an extra mug and tossing a tea bag into it.

"So," the woman began, sitting down at a small table nearby, "dare I ask the reason for your visit? Not to say I don't enjoy guests, but this was a little… unexpected."

Yang smiled, taking a seat as well.

"Actually, I came by because I had a question regarding Summer's training."

"Did you want me to go get her? She's playing out back at the moment."

"No, no," Yang replied, shaking her head at the offer, "I actually wanted to speak to you about it."

Scarla's eyebrow raised, but she didn't say anything, letting Yang continue.

"I'm not sure how much you know about Summer's training," Yang began, "but right now we're working on her emotion control."

"Keeping her anger under wraps, right?"

"Something like that," Yang said, shrugging slightly, "fire semblance owners are especially susceptible to emotions, as you've probably figured out. Our powers are triggered easily, and often any emotion can set them into play, if we aren't careful. Summer has gotten a good handle on holding her control for most emotions, but she's reached one of the harder parts of training now."

"It's one thing to keep calm in normal situations, but when you find yourself under pressure in a stressful scenario, it's much harder to keep your semblance from igniting. I struggled with this as well when I was young, so it's no surprise that Summer is, as well."

The kettle whistled, signifying the water ready for tea. Scarla stood to attend to it, but gestured for Yang to continue.

"When I was younger, my uncle taught me a good way of keeping my semblance from firing up at anger or stress. He told me to think of my sister, and it always calmed me down. Eventually, that effect spread to thinking about my teammates, so I was never without a way to calm down after that."

Scarla returned to the table, setting a mug down in front of Yang as she returned to her seat.

"So," she said, lifting the mug to her lips and blowing the steam away, "you're looking for something Summer can think of to calm down?"

Yang nodded, the warmth of the mug spilling across her palms as she took hold of it.

"I was wondering if Summer had anyone she was especially close to, or looked up to. A relative, or very close friend, perhaps. A treasure aunt, soulmate, or friendly neighbour… though, judging from the reactions I got when I was first trying to find Summer, I doubt she has many of those."

Scarla laughed at the comment, her eyes twinkling with amusement. Then she placed her mug down, looking sincerely at Yang.

"I think I know someone who can help," she said, "come with me."

She rose from the table, Yang doing the same, and left the kitchen to the hallway they had entered from. They walked down it into a small laundry room, filled with children's items – Yang briefly wondered just how much stuff one kid needed, then realized it was Summer she was thinking about.

Scarla went to the door in the laundry room and opened it, leading way onto a porch that overlooked the small backyard. Yang followed her out onto it, shivering slightly at the cold winter air, before freezing fully at the sight before her.

A scene that was all too familiar played out before her. Two girls, laughing and shrieking as they played in the snow, raced across the backyard. One was clearly older than the other, but not by much. The pair were lost in their own world, oblivious to the two adults standing on the porch. At least, until Scarla called out one of their names.

"Summer!" she yelled, prompting both heads to snap in their direction.

Yang hid a smirk as she heard the rest of the woman's comment, hidden under her breath.

"Oh, for the love of dust, where did your hat go this time…"

"Yang!"

Summer's cry travelled to the woman on the porch as the young girl bounded towards her, an expression of happiness and bewilderment splashed across her features. The girl came up before the steps of the porch, taking an assertive stance and pointing a stern finger at Yang.

"Now, what did I tell you about travelling alone in this weather," she asked demandingly, "after all, if you slip on ice and break your hip, no one will be around to help you up!"

Yang rolled her eyes, Scarla smiling at the comment, by now used to the teasing nature of their relationship.

"Well, if I break my hip, that just means I won't have to teach you anymore, right?" Yang shot back, a wicked grin spreading across her face, "Guess I should go walk on ice more often."

Summer feigned offence at the remark, as Scarla laughed openly.

"You're a terrible influence on Yang, Summer," she said, grinning at the girl's look of betrayal.

"Yes. Me. I am the terrible influence," Summer deadpanned, her eyes staring straight at her mentor.

Before Yang could reply, a small giggle rang out from behind Summer. Lilac eyes drifted to the small girl who stood partially hidden behind the older girl, timidly looking up at Yang. Summer noticed Yang's gaze shift, and followed it to the girl at her side. She stepped aside, placing a supportive hand on the girl's back, and giving her a light push towards the elderly woman.

"It's alright, Autumn," she said, at the look of worry that was on the young girl's face, "this is just the teacher I was telling you about. You know, the old one who's helping me stop being so warm all the time?"

Autumn's face turned into a look of understanding at this, and she looked back up to Yang, before she took a step away.

"Oh, she's harmless," Summer said, laughing at the look of incense that passed onto Yang's face, "kind of like those wind up teeth that clack a lot, but can't actually hurt you."

Yang's pupil mimed the teeth with her hand, adding the sounds as her fingers snapped together. Autumn giggled as Summer glanced curiously back up at her teacher.

"_Are_ your teeth those fake clacking ones?"

Yang resisted the urge to choke her student, instead opening her mouth and pointing to the very real teeth that resided inside. Autumn giggled again, all traces of fear gone from her face. She looked back up at Summer, who nodded with a smile and gave another supportive push.

Autumn walked up the steps of the porch to where Yang stood, the elderly woman kneeling down on instinct (the look of glee on Summer's face at the cracks that sounded cannot be described in words). The younger girl shuffled her feet nervously, hands twisting in her mittens, before she looked up at the elderly woman and flashed a bright smile.

"Hi, Yang," she said, "I'm Autumn, Summer's sister."

Yang felt her heart drop at this, but she recovered enough to return the smile and answer the greeting.

"Nice to meet you, Autumn," she replied, "I'm Summer's teacher, Yang. And I might be old" – at this, she shot Summer a glare – "but I do know what I'm talking about, so don't let your sister tell you I'm useless, or anything."

Autumn laughed, her head leaning back slightly, causing the hat on her head to slip back a couple of inches. It was enough to cause an ear to come popping out – a small, round, furry ear, the clear sign of a Faunus. Autumn flushed at this, hands hurrying to pull her hat back over it – but Yang reached out before she could, pulling the hat on for her. She gave the girl a smile, noting the reactions of Summer and Scarla – both were watching nervously, waiting to see how she'd react.

"Hey, Autumn," she said softly, drawing the girl's eyes back to her, "want to know something cool?"

She pointed to her arm then, towards the black ribbon that was wrapped around it.

"My partner was a Faunus, too."

The girl's eyebrows raised as her mouth dropped, before she hesitantly spoke.

"… Really?"

"Yup," Yang laughed, "She had cat ears, kind of similar to yours. Kept them under a ribbon for a long time, but she wore them out in the open eventually."

She reached her hand out again, ruffling the top of the girl's head.

"I'm used to them, don't worry."

Autumn laughed, any traces of hesitancy gone, and she nodded before bounding down the steps to return to her sister's side. Summer dodged her hug before snatching the back of her sister's jacket to keep her from faceplanting in the snow.

Yang found herself smiling at their antics, reminded of another time, long ago. Scarla came up to her side, and the pair stood in silence for a moment, watching the girls play.

"So," Scarla said after a minute or so, "think she'll do?"

Yang must have looked confused, because Scarla clarified a second later.

"Autumn, I mean. As a person for Summer to think of when she needs to calm down."

Yang shrugged, watching the girls again.

"Only one way to find out," she replied, before stepping down the porch steps into the snowy backyard.

"Hey, Summer! Come here for a second. I want to try something."

Summer complied, trotting over with an intrigued expression.

"I have an idea for you to try," Yang said as she came close enough to hear her, "I want you to do what we were doing earlier today, with the balls in the park."

The chance of a balls joke was ignored as Summer flashed a nervous glance at her sister and mother, who were watching curiously.

"They can stand up on the porch," Yang explained, "so they won't feel the heat that way. I'll stay down here with you, so nothing really changes."

"But it didn't work this morning," Summer interrupted, unease on her features, "how's it going to work now?"

"Because you're going to do something different this time," Yang said, "When you feel anger rising up, I want you to think of your sister."

Summer perked up at this, raising her eyebrow at her mentor.

"Autumn?"

"Do you have another sister I have yet to learn about?"

Summer shook her head, smiling.

"Then Autumn it is. Ready to give it a shot?"

Summer nodded, and Yang stepped back. She mentioned for Autumn to follow her to the porch where Scarla stood.

"Summer's about to use her semblance," she explained as Autumn climbed up the steps, "so you two can't be too close.

"You mean her warmth?"

Yang's eyebrows shot up at the name for Summer's semblance, but she nodded just the same. Then an idea occurred to her, and a slightly wicked grin passed her features.

"Actually, I know a way you can help, too."

A few minutes later, Summer stood in the center of the yard, Yang off to the side. She glanced at her mentor, who nodded reassuringly, and then engaged her semblance. A warmth spread through the air, and the snow around Summer's feet began to melt.

Yang waited a few moments, before she took aim and lobbed a snowball towards the young girl. It glanced off her shoulder, semblance not yet strong enough to melt it in midair. A red iris cracked open, glaring towards Yang, who smirked and threw another.

Summer frowned in concentration, the heat wavering slightly. Yang nodded towards Scarla and Autumn then, and both followed through with her idea – two snowballs glanced off Summer's back, causing the girl to react in surprise. Almost immediately, the heat spiked, the snow melting in a radius around her. Summer looked at Yang, a bit of panic rearing its head in her eyes.

"Give it a try," her mentor said, nodding encouragingly, "think of your sister."

Ignoring the memories the suggestion dragged up, Yang watched as Summer's eyes closed again. The heat fell slowly, until the frigid air returned. Eyes opened once more, back to their normal colour, looking at Yang.

"Good job," Yang called, "now try engaging it again. Keep thinking of Autumn, if it helps."

Summer complied, face furrowing in concentration. The warmth of her semblance spread once more – and for the first time following a loss of control, it was steady as it grew, a pulse of heat that warmed Yang's cheeks. It faded away a moment after, their breaths returning to steam.

Summer's face split into a grin – she knew what she'd accomplished. Yang walked towards her student, reaching out and ruffling her hair when she got close enough. Summer sputtered, trying to stop her mentor's attack, before eyeing her dangerously and tackling Yang to the snowy ground.

"Hey!"

The pair wrestled in a snow for a moment, age lost in the frenzy of attack and defense. Yang continued to ruffle Summer's hair, while the younger girl tried to poke her cheeks repeatedly. When the threat of an eye being poked became apparent, Scarla called out to them amongst her laughter.

"Alright you two, cut it out."

"Yeah," came the words of the youngest member there, "you wouldn't want to break her hip, right Summer?"

Stunned silence met the remark. Scarla was staring at her daughter, trying her hardest not to burst into laughter. Summer and Yang were staring at Autumn as well, faces frozen in shock, mouths hanging open. The silence lasted all for a second or two, before the three reacted.

"YES!" Summer cried, disentangling herself from Yang and throwing her arms into the air in triumph.

Scarla burst into laughter as Yang groaned, dropping her head into her hands.

"Oh, dust," she muttered amidst Summer and Scarla's howls, "there's two of them."

The laughter died down as Yang stood back up, now covered in snow. She traded places with Autumn, the young girl racing down to meet her sister. Yang came up to stand beside Scarla, who was wiping tears away from the corners of her eyes. It appeared that for all her attempts at being serious, Scarla was the original owner of Summer's sense of humour.

Down in the yard, Autumn was fawning over her sister's success, causing the older girl to blush slightly. Yang and Scarla watched them for a moment, before the latter struck up a conversation again.

"Thank you," she said, "for helping us so much."

"You were the one who thought of Autumn," Yang replied, shrugging, "all I did was remember how I used to calm down."

Scarla shook her head.

"No, I mean for much more than just today," she said, meeting the glance Yang sent her way, "I know I was… abrasive towards you when we first met, but you've helped Summer so much since then, and I can't express how grateful I am to you for it. And especially for Autumn, who has been worried for her sister ever since her semblance started up."

Yang pursed her lips at this.

"I can't take credit for all of this, really," she said, "Summer's a good student, even if she does make far too many jokes about my age."

"And your hip," Scarla added, giggling.

Yang shot her a withering look before continuing.

"But I was surprised to hear she had a sister. Summer's never mentioned her before."

"Really? That's odd."

Intrigued by the tone of surprise in her voice, Yang turned to fully face Scarla.

"Summer rarely misses a chance to talk about Autumn. They've been so close ever since they met, and they're almost inseparable now."

Yang took a moment to wonder if, somehow, Summer had clued into the fact she'd once had a sister of her own, and known to stay away from the topic. That brief thought was pushed away, however, when she caught on to the rest of the woman's words.

"Ever since they met?"

"Autumn's adopted," Scarla said, looking slightly uncomfortable, "We tried for another child, but… eventually, we decided to look into adoption. Summer and Autumn connected well from the start."

That answered the Faunus question, Yang mused to herself.

"Something to do with the names, perhaps?"

Scarla rolled her eyes, clearly having heard the joke before.

"It's a good a guess as any," she said, "but we're just glad they're so close, especially with the age gap."

"How far apart are they?"

"Two years."

Yang froze.

Her eyes fell back on the girls playing as she struggled to hold the memories at bay. Later, she'd think about how it felt like the universe was playing a trick on her, as only fate could make it so that she'd end up teaching a girl whose life rivaled her own. A two year gap between the sisters, the same as a pair from many generations ago.

Scarla was watching her cautiously, seeming to have sensed that her words had brought up something within the elderly woman. She cleared her throat softly, then wrapped her arms around herself, shivering slightly.

"Well," she said, "I think I'll retreat back inside, where my _warm_ tea is waiting for me."

With that, she excused herself, ducking into the house and leaving Yang to her memories. Summer and Autumn's laughs echoed through the air as the pair returned to playing in the snow.

No matter how she looked at them, all Yang could see was herself and Ruby. The fact they weren't full sisters had only made the connection deeper, and the age gap had driven the point home. It was like looking into a window of the past – an older and younger sister, two years apart, sharing the same parent, not connected fully by blood, but inseparable nonetheless.

For a minute or two, Yang just watched the pair, letting the flashes of memories flow through her. Eventually, she pulled away, heart aching with nostalgia and loss, and followed Scarla back into the house.

* * *

><p>Summer's training was easier after that. Gone was the immense barrier they'd both been staring down; Yang's suggestion to think of Autumn had almost completely given Summer control over her semblance. True, there were times in which Summer still slipped up, but Yang couldn't really blame her – after all, she'd had bouts of losing control all the way up into Beacon, and even several times past then.<p>

But to say Summer was doing better was an understatement; already the young girl was excelling in rising and lowering the temperatures of her semblance, Yang's efforts to disturb her often turning out to be fruitless. The days grew easier, laughter appearing more often than frustration.

"Ahh," Yang said, reclining back on the swing she sat in.

Summer sat beside her, swinging gently from side to side, the pair taking a break from training. Yang cast a glance towards the playground, where mounds of snow lay half melting, small rubber balls scattered amongst them.

"Someone's going to have to clean those up," she remarked.

"Not it," Summer countered immediately, not even sparing her mentor a glance.

Yang glared at her darkly before an idea sprang to mind.

"Oh no…" she said softly, prompting Summer to glance at her in confusion, "Age suddenly kicking in… Body growing weak… Can't seem to stand…"

She threw her arm against her forehead dramatically to emphasize her point, glancing at Summer. The girl looked evidently unamused, well used to Yang's antics at this point. She sighed, rolling her eyes, before she stood up.

"Fine, fine," she growled, "Leave it to the kid."

"That's what I keep you around for!"

"Are you sure I'm not just here to stoke your ego?"

"With all the jokes you make about my age, the _last_ thing you're stoking is my ego."

Summer laughed, wandering off to collect the balls. Yang watched her for a moment, letting her mind jump from thought to though aimlessly. Then something occurred to her, something she hadn't touched upon since she'd first met Summer.

"Hey, Summer."

The girl stopped in her actions, looking at her teacher questioningly.

"Why do you fight the bullies?"

Summer frowned, her young face furrowed.

"So they leave me alone, of course."

"No, that's not what I mean," Yang interrupted, shaking her head, "Your mother told me you got bullied at school before you moved, but no one had ever really bothered you here. You're the one who tends to start the actual fights."

Summer looked down, her expression a mix between shame and anger.

"I know that they're bullies," she said, "even if they don't pick on me, they do it to other kids in my class."

"So you fight them for the other kids?"

Summer shook her head.

"I stand up to the bullies for the other kids, but I don't fight with them for it."

"Then… why?"

There was a pause before Summer looked up at Yang, honesty shining in her eyes.

"So that they leave Autumn alone."

Yang was taken aback from the response; she'd suspected it had something to do with her sister, but to hear it put so bluntly was something else.

"So they pick on Autumn?"

"No," Summer replied, putting an expression of confusion on Yang's face, "but they might, once she goes to school around them."

She shuffled her feet, looking the ground.

"I fight the bullies so that they'll be afraid of me, and that way, they won't dare to pick on Autumn."

There was silence, which was broken by Yang's exasperated sigh.

"Oh, you idiot."

Summer looked up, her expression indignant, ready to defend herself. Yang didn't give her the chance.

"I don't mean for wanting to protect your sister," Yang clarified, "but the way you're doing it makes you an idiot."

She got up slowly, walking over towards where the young girl stood.

"Summer, you'll face bullies all your life. No matter where you are, you'll find them. It might not be right, but that's how things are sometimes."

She thought back on her own life – the bullies back in Patch, Cardin Winchester, and how they'd all eventually grown up to be somewhat respectable people.

"It's okay to stand up to them, and to protect other people from them. But physically fighting them won't solve anything."

Yang held up a hand as Summer began to protest, cutting her off.

"I know you think that by fighting them now, you'll make them afraid of you, and therefore afraid to go after Autumn as a result. But believe me, all that will do is make things worse for Autumn. And I know, because I did the same for my sister."

Summer was listening intently now.

"Back in Patch, where I grew up, my sister constantly got picked on by older bullies. I used to go off and fight them a lot – and while that eventually got them to stop, it also made people afraid of my sister as well. See, because they were afraid of me, they left my sister alone – but they were also afraid to try and make friends with her as well. And because she was shy as a kid…"

Yang's voice trailed off, before she swallowed and finished the sentence.

"It made it hard for her to make friends."

She paused, knowing her words were sinking in for the girl in front of her.

"I'm not saying don't stand up to the bullies; just don't fight them simply for the sake of protecting your sister. It might just end up making things worse. Understand what I'm saying?"

Summer nodded, before her wide eyes travelled up to focus on Yang's face.

"Did your sister make friends in the end?"

"Well, eventually," Yang said, nodding, "but it took her a long time, and a giant handmade scythe, to do so."

She smiled at the dumbfounded expression on Summer's face.

"Keep protecting your sister, kiddo," Yang finished, "but don't make other people afraid of you both in the process, alright?"

Summer nodded, her smile returning to her face.

"Of course," she said sincerely, "I'd do anything for my little sis!"

Their conversation took a different turn after that, falling into small talk and teasing, and eventually they returned to training, before calling it quits and heading home. Summer waved goodbye at the crossroads as per usual, before turning and running home, not concerned in the least by the ice on the sidewalks.

Yang watched her go, an odd realization creeping up on her. In the months that had passed, Yang had found all of her teammates and friends in Summer. Her laugh and smile, the way she held herself, the mannerisms when she talked, the expressions she wore – it was like seeing an amalgamation of the traits of those she'd once known. She'd grown used to it by now, the brief appearances of her friends now welcoming, instead of startling. But despite her friends appearing often, Yang had never been able to place who it was Summer reminded her of the most.

Now, however, she knew. In fact, she suspected she'd known all along, and had just refused to admit it to herself. Summer, in all her childish glory, reminded Yang of one person – herself.

Having realized it, Yang now found it impossible to ignore. She found herself in Summer the same way one finds themselves in a mirror, albeit much younger and more energetic. They'd always had the similarity of their semblance, but Yang now found that they shared so much more than that – their similarities extended into their personalities and actions.

She realized suddenly why she'd noticed elements of her friends in herself as well – with Summer practically a mirror image of her, the same characteristics the young girl shared with her former friends were easily apparent in Yang herself. It was both startling and warming to find that after all these years, the personalities of her previous partner and friends lived on.

But what startled Yang the most was just _how much_ Summer was like her, in almost every way. While their appearances weren't very similar – aside from the red eyes their semblances brought on – their mannerisms were, in the ways they laughed and talked, their senses of humour, their expressions and tones of voice. Heck, even Yang's love for puns was evident in Summer, a fact that would surely have made Weiss leave the city, if not Vale entirely.

And, of course, there was the characteristic they shared that made Yang hurt the most. Just like her mentor, Summer had shown a side that was all too familiar – the need to protect those important to her. It was strongest when she was around Autumn, and the very fact she'd striven to fight others in order to keep her sister safe proved it entirely. But Yang had also gathered the same protectiveness when she spoke of her parents, and even a couple of other names that had once in a while punctuated their conversations.

Yang knew it all too well. For her entire life, the brawler had striven to look after those who mattered the most to her – initially just her family, her sister, but that had eventually spread to her closest friends – and had succeeded. Everyone else was gone now, Yang's promise to protect them as long as she could standing true. And now, seeing Summer follow the same path was a familiarity that hurt as much as it made her proud.

Yang shook her head, trying to dislodge the thoughts that were causing her to stand still in the street. She started to make her way home, briefly debating visiting Junior on her way, as she hadn't seen him for a while now. While her thoughts drifted, one lingered in the back of her mind – a promise she had made long, long ago, and one she had kept until the bitter end.

A promise made on a birthday gift, wrapped by a mother no longer around. A promise that would keep her going, even when she had doubts about her own walks in life. A promise that would spread to others, but never stray from the first person it was made upon. A promise that had been fulfilled long ago, and now had been passed on to a younger generation, and that would live on for years after.

A promise to protect her sister, the source of her smile, with everything she had.

* * *

><p><em>Today is Yang's birthday. She is eighty-two. <em>The day is winding to its end, the sun having recently set behind the horizon. Dust pools in the corners of countertops and room floors, some of it catching light from the last vestiges of the evening light. The house is quiet, the way it often is now, the day's visitors having left long ago. The only sounds come from the usual creaking the house has to offer – the vent's soft sighs, the stairs' occasional groans, the rattle of the windowpanes – and the movements of one lone, elderly woman, upstairs.

Yang shuffles through her room, cleaning out the closet that has been avoided being sorted since she first moved in, going through dresser draws, finding things she'd thought she'd long lost. A pile of things to give away sits on the corner of her bed, clothes that no longer fit and items she no longer uses. In the pile sits her hairdryer, its yellow shell slightly cracked and the paint peeling from years of use. She hadn't used it much in the past, finding her semblance a much quicker and cheaper way to dry her hair, unless she actually wanted to style it somehow. Now, she doesn't find much need for it at all, as her hair dries quickly enough on its own.

The short strands of grey mixed with the barest hints of gold curl around the edges of her face as she cleans – she reaches up to brush it back, once again forgetting that the length that hung over her shoulders for decades is no more. Old habits die hard, unlike the people who seem to slip away so quickly.

Weiss had nearly had a heart attack when she'd come to visit the first time after it happened; the heiress had in fact dropped the things she'd been carrying the moment she'd seen the former brawler. The sound of breaking glass was lost in Weiss's gasp, the sight drawing a rarely heard sound from within. The rough, choppy edges of her hair had stuck out unevenly, the rest of the length detached with a pair of kitchen scissors Yang had found in a drawer somewhere.

Weiss, on her part, had recovered well; within minutes she had shooed Yang to a seat at the kitchen table, picking up the abandoned scissors to try and salvage at least some of the remaining locks. Her hair had grown out slightly since then, but neither Weiss nor Pyrrha had ever gotten used to the sight of a short-haired Yang – and to tell the truth, the brawler had never quite gotten used to it herself. But she'd never regretted it, as she'd once told Weiss. When the heiress had asked just what had possessed her to cut off almost all her hair, Yang's answer had been quiet, almost too soft to hear.

"It was just another reminder."

Weiss never asked again after that. In fact, she hadn't mentioned her lost partner, Yang's lost sister, again – at least, until today. Weiss and Pyrrha had come to visit for lunch, bringing with them gifts. Weiss had given her a box of tea as well, once again remarking on the fact that the overdose of coffee would stop the brawler's heart in her chest (it wouldn't be until years later that Yang would remember this and laugh; it appeared that for all their comments on the matter, tea had taken Blake and Weiss to the grave long before coffee ever would for Yang).

Along with their gifts came a third – a simple, white box, held together by a deep red ribbon. Weiss had handed it to Yang with trembling hands just before they left, almost all words gone but the ones she muttered with a shaking voice.

"From Ruby."

Then they'd left, leaving the former brawler to her current activity – which was, in fact, cleaning everything before she'd have to sit down and eventually face the gift. But for now, she is content to dig through her belongings, roughly parting with things in a fit of avoidance and heartache.

A photo frame clanks against the second pile on her bed – it's made up of memories from Patch, Beacon, and beyond, photos of times gone by. Framed certificates and newspaper articles from their days of fame lie there too, caught between images of family and friends.

As the last bits of light wink behind the city skyline, Yang finally straightens up, wincing at the cracks in her back. She throws a glance to the piles on her bed, then retreats into the hallway, returning a minute later with a large, empty box. In it she places the photos and framed achievements, gently settling them in to prevent the glass from breaking. She pauses on the second last photo – in it are her team, smiling and laughing, still young in their Beacon years. She can't place the date exactly, but Weiss is trying to fight off a smile, so it has to be in their last year. Weiss really only struggled with hiding her true feelings then.

Yang sighs, placing it on the dresser beside her. While everything else can be hidden away from view, this photograph seems almost as if it is impossible to hide away, as though her teammates' smiles must be shown. She shrugs in resignation; after all, this could simply be hidden on a shelf, somewhere she wouldn't have to look at it frequently. Of course, this ends up not being the case, but Yang doesn't know that quite yet.

Issue temporarily placated, Yang turns her attention back to the final picture of the pile. It's a simple frame, a dark mahogany wood, but the picture inside brings on anything but simple emotions. There in front of her sits Ruby, smiling in all her three-year-old glory, perched on the lap of someone Yang hasn't seen for almost all of her life. The first Summer she came to know, the mother who raised her, smiles gently up at Yang from the photograph, not faded despite its age. The picture had, in fact, never seen the light of day – Yang had kept it hidden in her drawers no matter where she'd been, as it hurt too much to leave it on display all the time. Instead it had lingered amongst clothes, only surfacing when Yang dug through a drawer too quickly, spiking emotions like a beat on a heart rate monitor.

But now, the picture sits out in the open. Yang doesn't know if she has the heart to hide it away again – and yet, simply having it sit there, she feels enough pain already. As she studies the picture, her thoughts drifting, her focus wanders too – to a simple white box perched on the end of her bed, tied with a deep red ribbon.

Yang swallows, still not ready to open it. But at the same time, she know she never truly will be, in the same way she'll never truly be able to hide the photograph away and forget about it completely. And so, with trembling hands, the woman reaches out and collects the gift from its position, sinking softly onto her bed as she does so.

Her hands shake as she undoes the ribbon – it takes several ties to undo the knot fully. Then, with a slow and steady gesture despite the tremors that flow from her fingertips, Yang pulls the ribbon away completely, leaving in her lap the white box by itself. She breathes deeply – not that it does much to help the way her heart is pounding – before reaching out tentatively, and slowly lifting the lid from the back.

Red.

That's the first thing that fills Yang's vision – then her breath hitches, as she realizes what it is. Her eyes find the note tucked into the folds next, reading it once, twice, and many times more until the tears in her eyes blur the letters away completely. She cries silently as her hands reach down, pulling the item from the box.

Red folds spill from her hands, over the edges of the box, across her lap. A hood falls back, the lapels clenched in her shaking hands. Neat seams hem the edges, and rough, unsteady stitching crosses through the middle, signs of repair from years gone by. The colour is still as rich as ever, the deep red of roses, never having faded despite being worn for decades on end. The cloth is worn, but still soft as it cascades over Yang's scarred knuckles, like a pair of warm hands holding her own tight.

Yang doesn't make a sound, her sobs too strong to even make noise, her tears silent as they stream down weathered skin. She hunches over then, shoulders shaking silently as she brings the fabric to her face, her tears freely staining the red cloth.

That's how Yang will sit for a long time, even after her tears slow and her head aches from crying. All the while, Ruby and Summer will smile up at her from the photograph, as though trying to comfort her. But for now she won't even look at them, her face shadowed by her short hair, the room growing continually darker.

Yang will continue to cry into Ruby's cloak, the fabric growing darker from her tears, the deep red mixing with the strands of grey and gold. Beside the patched, worn red cloak, the note will sit, abandoned. A simple white piece of paper, the scratchy penmanship evident of her sister, the small amount of words written there serving as Ruby's final message to Yang.

_"It wasn't your fault, I promise._

_I was just protecting my big sister, like she always did for me."_

Shattered sobs will appear later, but for now, there is only silence.

A silence shared by a woman who has lost more than she'll ever be able to replace, and her sister's last, final gift.


End file.
